Raven
by Milena Jace
Summary: "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you developed a case of hero worship," Varric smirked. "Why? Because I have respect for a woman who built herself from nothing?" F!Hawke/Fenris. DISCONTINUED
1. The Deep Roads

Author's notes: it's been a long time since I felt any need to write fanfiction, but Fenris is too amazing to resist, I guess)) There will be twists to the original story, timeline, dialogue and such - what's the point of rewriting the game, right?)) Usual warning about english not being my native language still applies. And I may be a little rusty at it.

Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything. Even Fenris. Lucky them.

* * *

The Deep Roads. She never thought she'd ever find herself here. Or rather prayed not to. She heard stories. The darkspawn killed men, but women they dragged with them underground, never to be seen again. No one knew what happened to them down there, but it was not too difficult to come up with a plausible scenario. After all, the darkspawn came human-sized, dwarven-sized… you name it. And now they were lost here, with no map, no supplies. For all she knew they could be walking only deeper into darkspawn territory…

Hawke suddenly realized that she was staring into her dagger for what felt like eternity. Reflected in well-polished blade, a pale and frightened young woman stared back at her. She was always pale, but in the light of lyrium veins crawling up the walls her white skin seemed to shine eerily against short raven-black hair. It was difficult to make out half-faded tattoo around her right eye: a memory of childish rebellion. Oh how furious father was when she came home with it! Never attract attention, never be memorable, stay a shadow, just another face in the crowd: that is how we survive. How she hated that life of constant fear and running. After a while all towns just blur together. Lothering was the first place where they dared to stay for long, and only because father was already ill by then. But they finally had a home. She finally had friends outside her family. And then she lost it all…

"Unless I am mistaken, this is not how you keep watch," a deep voice, almost growling even at this low volume, awakened her from yet another reverie. Miriam flinched and turned to its source. Fenris was comfortably perched on one of the large stones that littered the passage, greatsword at his side, both ready to leap into action at first sight of darkspawn.

"Ah, but you are mistaken! You see, I am watching this Miriam Hawke here," she raised the dagger. Sarcasm kicked in, her usual defense against everything. "The moment she shrieks and starts running for it we'll know that we're ambushed. Smart, no?" And this strange escaped slave often caused this defense to rise. The elf had powerful presence, so unlike anything she would imagine in a slave. From his intense voice to the piercing gaze of moss-green eyes, from his stance of a predator ready to leap to the ability to crush his enemies' hearts from the inside. When he was near, she wasn't all that sure he couldn't take on those slave hunters on his own. And she… yes, she was fast, she knew, where to stick her daggers, but that was about it.

"Maybe you should've left her in Kirkwall with her sister then," Fenris frowned, looking at her intensely with those frightening eyes. He was always like that, except for rare moments when she managed to catch him off guard. Like the day she and Bethany burst into his mansion with a huge pie and incoherent (mostly because of Bethany's giggling) explanations about "housewarming party". Their reward was an unexpectedly cute confused smile that did not last long.

"Hey, I'm on top of this. And we really need money from this expedition. So we'll get out of here, kick Bartrand's ass, take back that stupid statue…" she shrugged. Money could buy everything. Sudden case of templars' blindness, for example. Or a smile on mother's face when she walks into the house she grew up in. But not Carver's life…

"To protect your sister from the templars," the elf pointed out. He wasn't all too happy with Bethany, even if he tried to be civil with her. Still, Miriam hoped he would warm up to her sister eventually. His hatred towards mages was… disquieting, for more reasons than he knew.

"Among other things," she simply nodded.

"A long way to go to hide a dangerous mage," Fenris tilted his head to the side, still looking at her. "Haven't you ever wondered what your life would be like if you did not need to run and hide with your sister all the time?"

Ah yes. The only times he actually became chatty were when mages and their "tainting" of everyone's lives were involved.

"My, now you sound like one of those demons seducing them evil power-hungry mages," Hawke smirked. What she wanted to do was to shout and kick him, if only to relieve some of that tension from being stuck in the Deep Roads with no known way out. But she was the eldest Hawke, charged by her dying father to protect her family, she couldn't show fear or weakness, even if her siblings… sibling… wasn't there. And she didn't fancy being ran through with that clawed hand of his, either. Instead, she stood up, stretched, looked around… and only then answered his question. "And no, I didn't," which was a lie. "She is my sister, Fenris, not some monster. I held her in my arms when she was a baby. She is as sweet an innocent now as she was then. And I will protect her. I already failed to protect my brother, and I won't…" She paused, noticing how Fenris's long elven ears perked up and his gaze distanced. He was listening intently, but not to her. The elf raised his hand, urging her to listen.

And then she heard it, the faint gritting of stones being rubbed together. The elf pointed to the tunnel which was their only way out. Long way behind them was the treacherously sealed door, shades and darkspawn. And in that tunnel? Miriam felt fear spreading from her stomach. More darkspawn? What else lurked in these forgotten passages? Imagination stopped at darkspawn dragging her away to their nests and refused to go any further without sufficient amounts of alcohol.

Fenris already went about waking up the others as quiet as possible. Still staring into the darkness of the tunnel, she was vaguely aware that Varric's snoring has suddenly stopped, followed by a muffled curse. But soon even he heard rolling stones getting closer, and then…

Bright red light suddenly shot from the tunnel, accompanied by the terrible sound that seemed to be heard by the bones, not the ears. In those few seconds that she was caught in the light, Miriam felt as though her very life was being sucked away, leaving only a shell, helplessly stumbling in the quiet and empty void. Someone pushed her away, and suddenly the world rushed in, full of shouts and flashes of magic.

"Duck, Raven, you're not a dwarf!" Varric pulled her behind a boulder, and she could finally make out a creature looming in the entrance. It seemed to be made of stones, not unlike the one they were currently hiding behind.

"How do you kill stone?" she shouted, trying to outvoice the creature's shrieks.

"How should I know?" Varric shouted back while keeping Bianca busy.

"You're a dwarf!"

"No way! Really?"

Miriam squinted, trying to make out something in the chaos that their quiet cave turned into. The creature wasn't only stone, there was some semblance of a glowing red skeleton holding it together, but neither Varric's arrows nor Fenris's sword aimed at it seemed to do any harm to the creature. Merrill's magic seemed to give it slight pause, though…

"What are you doing sticking out like that? It's not called cover for nothing, you know!" Varric pushed her down again just in time to avoid another burst of red light. But not before she saw it, a red eye open in what could be the creature's solar plexus.

"I just need one second," she pulled out her dagger and closed her eyes, trying to remember the creature's exact position. "Then you can pull me down."

"What are you, mad?"

"Either that, or I'm really drunk!" she jumped up, hoping she can manage enough strength to throw the dagger. It was like moving through water. Water that was solidifying by the second. She heard a long bloodcurdling shriek, and then everything finally went dark.

When she came to, it was blissfully quiet. Her body ached. But that was a sign that she was still alive, no? What was it that people usually asked in such moments?

"Where am I?"

"Why, in viscount's castle, of course. Or, should I say now, your castle?" Varric's voice said. Good. She couldn't really imagine meeting someone like Varric in the Fade, or wherever she was supposed to go after death. Miriam was never big on religion. "How are you feeling, Raven?"

"Well, the bed is a little too hard. And cold," Hawke opened her eyes. Three worried faces loomed over her. "And you three look awful. What happened? What was that thing?"

"You killed it," Fenris said simply.

"But not before it sucked all the energy out of me, huh?" she tried to sit. Surprisingly enough, that went better than expected.

"Nah, it just burst and hit you on the head with a boulder or two," the dwarf pointed at Fenris. "The elf got that 'sucking life out' deal, though."

"I'm fine," Fenris retorted when Miriam's eyes shifted to him.

"Too bad Anders is not here," Merrill cut in, looking at her worriedly.

"You know how he was about returning to the Deep Roads," Miriam shrugged and winced. Anders's healing would really be welcome right now. "So let's go about it the old-fashioned way. But right now we need to see where this tunnel leads. Before any more of those things find us."

"Well, can't sit here all day while Bartrand's prancing away with our finds. Let's go, Daisy," Varric took Bianca and, casting one last look at Hawke, cautiously walked into the tunnel.

"Are you able to walk?" Fenris asked, waiting for her to stand.

"What, are you proposing to carry me? How are you going to pull it off without touching me?" Miriam rose to her feet stubbornly. Right. Her head hurt, but she could live with that. Fenris bristled up at her words, but she could live with that too… probably. "Sorry. It was you who pushed me out of the way of that light, right? Thank you."

Fenris simply nodded.


	2. Heroes return

Author's notes: fixed a few embarrassing typos in the first chapter and description. Considering this and my limited descriptive powers in a foreign language, I was really surprised at all the reviews and story alerts. Love you all! Btw, why isn't Fenris even in the list of characters?

Disclaimer: still don't own Dragon Age.

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Their return to the city was not what she imagined when they set out on that disastrous expedition. Instead of triumphant return of daring heroes it was tired limping of beat up and starved shadows. A week of wandering the Deep Roads with no supplies, no map, but plenty of dangerous creatures whose names were probably known only to rare dwarven historians left it's mark on all of them. After entrusting Merrill into Anders's care, dumping the loot in Varric's room in the Hanged Man and leaving the still steaming dwarf to shake any news of Bartrand out of his contacts, she could finally go home.

The dusty attic in which her uncle, a scion of the once powerful Amells, lived could hardly be called home by anyone, except maybe the cat that seemed to think it owned the place and could always be found warming its belly in sunlight by the window, oblivious to uncle Gamlen's constant grumbling and half-hearted attempts to throw it out. The cat always seemed to somehow find its way back in. But if there was anything Miriam learned in all her travels, it was that "home" was not a place, it was people. And right now she was glad to be home.

It was quiet. Yes, she no longer counted on a grand return, but it would be nice to see that her family waited for her. Of course, uncle wouldn't be home this time of day, but he wasn't much of a family anyway.

"Anyone here?" she called out. "There's one battered hero coming home from a long and perilous journey…"

Creaky door to what could be generously called their bedroom slowly opened and her mother stopped at threshold. A sinking feeling of something being wrong turned in Hawke's stomach: mother was pale, her hair a mess, her eyes red. When she finally realized who stood before her, Leandra rushed to her daughter, hugging her, bursting into tears.

"I'm fine, see, it just took a little longer than we thought," Miriam murmured into her mother's hair, trying not to wince when this fierce embrace pushed at her bruises.

"Oh, Miri… They took her… They took Bethany," Leandra's words made her freeze, forgetting all about her pain and tiredness.

"What? How? We were always careful, like father taught us…" they couldn't take Bethany. She was always careful, never used magic in public… but she still used magic, didn't she? To her it was a gift, one that she always thought unfair to hide and not use.

"She said she met some thugs on her way home and had to cast a spell to scare them off," her mother explained between sobs. "And next morning the templar came to our house…"

"But we have the treasure. We'd sell it and get a lot of money. How could they take her?" she still refused to believe it. But she knew that money could not help anymore. After all they'd been through, to come back a few days too late? She failed again. Too slow to push Carver out of the way, too slow to return to the city crawling with templars where she left her little sister. And now, as she looked into her mother's face, she could see it. The blame. She had to get away.

Leaving her mother with awkward words of support, Miriam didn't even bother to change her clothes. That blame in mother's eyes hounded her. Freezing her to the core, making her eyes swell with tears at the unfairness of it. She was only three years older than them. Barely an adult herself, how was she expected to protect them? Why was she expected to give up everything for their sake?

She wandered the city for a long time, stopping in the Gallows, just watching the Tranquil selling their wares. Would that happen to Bethany? No matter how sweet and innocent, in everyone's eyes she was an apostate, a danger to be dealt with.

Evening found her at the entrance to Fenris's mansion. There was no light in the windows, but she knew he would be there. The elf did not go out much.

True enough, there he was. Alarmed at the intrusion, reaching for his sword.

"Go on, cut me in two, maybe then I'll finally stop being late everywhere," she waved her hand dismissively, too numbed emotionally right now to bother.

"I expected you to be with your family," Fenris said in a way of apology, visibly relaxing. If any good came out of this expedition, it was that it brought them all together. They were no longer a calculating dwarf using his so-called "partners" to his own ends, a shy Dalish pariah, an escaped slave working off a self-imposed debt and a refugee in dire need of money. They were friends that went through hell together and survived only by supporting each other. Even if Fenris insisted on hating Merrill for using blood magic – or any magic, for that matter, - he still saved her life more than once in the Deep Roads. And to Miriam elven mage was another apostate little sister to protect.

"Yes, well… not much of that family left to be with," she crushed into a dusty chair. Something about her – or all of it, really, - must have told Fenris that something was wrong, because he motioned for her to wait and soon came back with two dark bottles. "What's that?" She took one of the bottles and whistled quietly while the elf expertly uncorked another. "Agreggio? You sure know your wine."

"Not me," Fenris answered shortly. For a few moments he looked thoughtfully at the bottle in his hand and then suddenly threw it across the room. There was satisfied smile on his face when the bottle hit the wall and exploded.

"Felt good, did it?" Hawke raised her eyebrow when she recovered from initial shock. "Can I do that?"

"Be my guest," Fenris gestured generously at the remaining bottle.

Miriam stood up and weighted the bottle in her hand, searching for a target. Her eyes found an ugly statue that wasn't so difficult to associate with a templar. The bottle exploded hitting the statue's head. And it did feel good. Fenris spared another one of his small smiles while looking at her work appreciatively.

"When I was still a slave, Danarius would have me pour it for his quests," smile turned bitter.

"Maybe one day he'll come here looking for you and you'll smash it on his head. Might want to save one bottle for that occasion," Miriam offered.

"I think I'd like that, yes," the elf laughed quietly, but soon became serious. "But you did not come here to listen to my whining. What happened?"

"Well, I considered drowning my sorrows in wine, but throwing stuff feels so much better…" Hawke sniffed. "We're going to have to do something about that smell now, though…"

"Hawke."

She gave up. Light-hearted moment passed. "They took Bethany, Fenris," she slumped back into the chair. "She used some magic to protect herself, and someone saw it and ratted her out."

"I'm… sorry," Fenris took another chair, not taking that unreadable gaze off her.

"No you're not," Miriam looked into the fire. "You thought she was dangerous and needed to be behind bars."

"My distrust of mages is not without reason. But she is your sister and I trust your judgment of her," the elf said slowly, as if measuring every word.

"She also made an amazing pie for you," now Hawke was positively pouting.

"Yes," Fenris smiled. "That too."

His smiles were still a rare and precious sight. Stealing a glance at him, Miriam couldn't maintain her pout any longer. But her smile soon faded. "Mother hates me, you know. She thinks it's my fault that we lost them both."

"And what do you think?"

"I think… I couldn't…" she closed her eyes tight for a moment, willing back tears. "I'm just one girl. I'm good at throwing knives and talking my way out of trouble, but I'm not some legendary hero who can save everyone! And I'm not father…"

"Maybe you shouldn't try to be him then," the elf simply said.

"You think I can do better than him?"

"You seemed to do just fine down there."

Smile slowly returned to her face. He was probably the only person who did not expect anything of her and was fine with her just being herself. That was a new experience. She was tired of trying to be strong all the time. It would do a world of good to just let go of all that responsibility and guilt for one evening. As a start. Miriam relaxed, extended her sore legs closer to the fireplace and exhaled.

That was when the quiet mansion burst with sound.

"Hey, elf, you'd better pick up that compensating for something sword of yours and go with us, because…" Varric stopped short noticing Miriam in the chair. Behind him others did not have time to react and almost ended up in a heap. The dwarf paid no attention to them and instead looked almost reproachfully at Hawke. "What are you doing here, Raven?"

She'd already grown used to that nickname he gave her and it did not annoy anymore – which was, as she deduced, its' original purpose. She was a Hawke and she had raven-black hair, ha-ha, so witty. Now she merely shrugged. "Visiting a friend, why?"

"Well, it's all well and good, only your mother sent out a search party," the dwarf's thumb pointed back at the sheepish crowd behind him. "So you'd better come home and show her you're alright. She threatened Bianca!" Varric held his crossbow protectively.

"Right," Miriam stood up reluctantly. At this point, if she could crawl back home, she would consider herself a hero. And then fall asleep and let tomorrow's Hawke deal with Bethany's loss. "Thanks for the wine, Fenris. It was exquisite."


	3. White lilies

Author's notes: wow, so many reviews. I'm really happy you guys think everyone is in character! I hope I'll be able to continue that way. I really wanted to keep up daily updates, but as I write this at work, update speed really depends on how much work I have to do that day (and yesterday I wasted half a day arguing about where the Delete button should be in my program… meh). Also, if any of you are interested, I uploaded a screenshot of my Hawke as avatar here. It's pretty small, of course, but I think you can make out her features just fine.

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

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Weeks pretty much blended together after that. Miriam could not just go to the Circle and demand her sister back, and so she dedicated her time to earning good reputation with the templars. That way she could get closer to them and, eventually, to Bethany. So she would gladly assist them with hunting runaway mages. And there seemed to be a lot of those. She didn't really feel like a traitor doing that, no matter how Anders would glare at her afterwards. If a mage wanted to live freely, he had to stop using magic; it was the only way to avoid unwanted attention both in this world and in the Fade. She knew that all too well. But these mages did exactly the opposite, even if they managed to destroy their phylacteries before escaping. Some of them didn't even bother to switch from robes to something more inconspicuous. And, of course, there was blood magic. Becoming a demon's host and losing yourself did not really fit into Hawke's concept of freedom.

Others would always join her in these errands. Fenris never minded hunting down an apostate or two, Varric did not care one way or the other, but seemed to enjoy their company, and sometimes even Aveline would find time for them between her new duties as the Guard-Captain. She would never risk bringing Anders along in case he gets glowy, but they often ended up in his clinic in need of mending burns and cuts. Miriam's best puppy eyes and perfectly valid explanations of stopping blood mages successfully ensured them much needed medical attention so far, although Hawke could see that their actions saddened the healer. But she had to do it all the same. As for Merrill, it did not make much sense to bring a blood mage with you if you tried to become the templars' best friend, and the elf seemed to be preoccupied with something at home anyway.

Miriam's relationship with mother grew worse over past weeks. Pain of all their losses, worry and unsaid blame created tension between them that would often erupt in carelessly hurtful words. These fights scared Miriam, as did thoughts of being able to love her mother only from afar. And so she'd practically moved to Fenris's mansion, leaving mother alone to restore the house of her childhood that Hawke bought after receiving her share of profit from selling their Deep Roads loot.

The elf did not seem to mind this intrusion or the fact that the rest of the gang now would constantly hang out there as well. Miriam could only hope that these loud gatherings would not be considered some sort of conspiracy by the neighbors. Tonight Varric and Isabela managed to drag everyone, including Fenris and Merrill, into some card game which rules currently seemed to be a subject of heated debates.

"Come on, Raven, what's more important than an evening with your friends?" Varric called out to her yet again, sounding somewhat annoyed. She refused to join them tonight and instead sat on the floor trying to make some sense out of a pile of paper before her.

"People are dying, Varric," she said, rearranged the pile and looked at it critically. Still no connection however she looked at it…

"Bah, people are dying all the time. It's a harsh world we live in," the dwarf was shuffling cards. "I'm dealing you in."

"No thanks," she picked a paper and frowned. There was nothing linking this woman to the others except approximate age… But there had to be system to this madness. Yet all they knew about a next victim is that she would receive a bouquet of white lilies, and even that on a word of revenge-driven blood mage.

"You're getting obsessed with this whole 'let's become friends with the templars' scheme, you know," Isabela commented not taking eyes off her hand. "It's not healthy. Go out, have some fun with this elf of yours or something."

"Maybe if you were as consistent at looking for your relic, it wouldn't take you almost a year to find… what? An old boot?" Miriam retorted before Fenris could, and the elf settled for glaring at the pirate murderously.

"Ohh, did that struck a nerve?" Isabela grinned, seemingly unimpressed by both. "It's your turn, pointy-ears."

The game went on and, when everyone gradually drifted away, Miriam was still crouched over the papers. This case wasn't as much about her hope to get to Bethany. After all, it seemed only she and an old templar thought this was anything more than random disappearances. Even Aveline thought she was wasting time on it.

"She is right, you know." Miriam gave a start when she suddenly heard Fenris's voice. The elf was completely noiseless with those bare feet of his, often startling her in this huge and quiet place. "Infuriating, but right."

"That you and I should…?" she tilted her head back to look at him with mischievous expression and was rewarded with a smirk. This side of him really surprised her after the Deep Roads. Once the elf let them inside his initial defenses, it turned out he wasn't all frightening punching-through-the-heart living weapon bent on revenge. He was still very guarded and easily angered, but could also be fun. At least Miriam found that she quite enjoyed his straight-faced humor and his manner to tell people what he really thought about them. And she could swear she saw him flirt with her a couple of times.

"That you should take some rest," he picked up the papers despite her protests and glanced at them briefly. "You've been working too hard."

"Yes, mother," she tried to snatch the papers out of his hand, but he just raised it higher. "Fine, I'll make you a deal: you look at those and tell me what you can make of them, and I shut up about it until tomorrow."

"Deal," Fenris looked at the papers in his hand again.

"And…?"

"Well, I could make a hat," the elf shrugged and put them on the table. "Now get some rest."

"Hey, that doesn't count!" she jumped to her feet and made for the papers, but shrank under his suddenly harsh glare.

"Did you really think they teach slaves how to read?" Fenris spat out, scowling. She knew that look; it came with the crash of defenses being raised.

"…ah," she managed, suddenly embarrassed. The blush began to creep up her neck. "But you still tricked me!"

"A deal is a deal," the former slave said more calmly.

"How about a new deal? I'll teach you how to read, and then you'll tell me what you can make of those," she proposed carefully. Fenris did not answer right away. She could tell he was trying not to lash out at her like he would do before when she tried to pity him.

"By that time it will no longer matter," he finally said turning away from her to pour the remaining wine into his glass. The gang left a real mess on the table.

"Well… yes. Then how about this: I'll teach you how to read, and you'll learn how to read," she offered, moving next to him and tilting her head to look at him hopefully.

"Why?" the elf asked, putting back the glass that was already halfway to his lips and turning to her.

"Because I want to and you need to," she pushed back the sarcastic retort that begged to be said. It wasn't the time.

"Alright," he finally agreed. "But not tonight. You should go home."

"You're kicking me out?" Miriam stared at him in disbelief.

"You've always been trying to protect your family," the look Fenris gave her was too serious and held a hint of reproach. For the second time this evening he managed to embarrass her. "And now you're hiding here because it hurts."

"Maybe I am here because I want to be here," she leaned closer to him, smiling. He had his defenses, she had hers. The elf pulled back slightly, looking down on her.

"No, I don't think that is the case," he finally concluded.

"Rats," she scoffed, pulling back from him as well.

"Go home, Hawke," Fenris smirked almost softly. "Your mother needs you."

"Alright, but I'm coming with a book tomorrow," she threatened, picking up her cloak. "Just because you can't be so annoyingly right all the time."

"I'll be waiting in terror," the elf promised, walking her to the door.

Being almost neighbors with Fenris was another thing that she still couldn't get used to. It took only about five minutes for her to return home from his mansion, no matter how she wanted to delay that moment. Thankfully, mother wasn't there to greet her immediately. Bodahn met her in the anteroom, chatting away as usual about something completely unimportant while she hanged her cloak and changed her boots. It was when she turned away from the mirror that the saw the most innocent and dread-filling sight of her life. Bodahn's chatter soon died down as he watched frozen Hawke with a puzzled look on his face.

And she looked with wide-open eyes, her heart threatening to crush her ribs with every slow, heavy beat, at the bouquet of white lilies arranged lovingly in a beautiful vase.


	4. Five stages

A/n: this was a difficult one to write and, I suspect, to read. I don't particularly enjoy making my characters suffer (you never would've guessed by my choice of quests so far, I know)), but I do find it very interesting to get into their heads and explore their reactions to difficult situations. That's the fun of role-playing to me, really. Thank you all for reviews, you guys really inspire me to continue!))

Edit: damn, this document manager really messes up my documents sometimes -.- Now it went and swallowed a long word.

Disclaimer: do I even need to state the obvious?

* * *

Denial. The flowers must've been from that suitor her mother was going on about lately. Leandra was a beautiful woman, and even all the grief and hardships of her life could not destroy that beauty. Yes, that must've been it. Mother deserved a little happiness after all they've been through, didn't she?

"Bodahn, is mother home?" Miriam asked, never taking her eyes off the lilies.

"No, m'lady, she went to visit your uncle a few hours ago," her 'manservant' answered, still bewildered at her behavior. Relief and embarrassment flooded through Miriam. It was alright, her mother just went to Gamlen, and flowers… flowers were just a coincidence.

And still…

"I'm going to meet her. She shouldn't wander the Lowtown on her own," Hawke put her cloak back on and gripped her daggers tightly to stop her hands from shaking. She kept saying to herself that it was only natural to fear the worst, considering what happened to the rest of her family, but that did not mean the worst would happen. It did not help much; she broke into a run as soon as she was outside.

This short run only served to intensify her anxiety. She had just enough sense left to stop by Fenris's mansion and rattle madly at the door. It felt like he was taking forever to answer.

"Mothergotwhitelilies!" she blurted out as soon as she saw the elf.

Fenris never wasted time with unnecessary questions. Fear in Hawke's eyes, her impatience and two words, "white lilies", explained enough for him. They were already quickly walking down the street when their direction made him doubt.

"Have you found out where to look?"

"I'm going to check Gamlen's house, and…" uncertainty crept into her voice.

"We need to tell Aveline so her guards could start the search. And we need to find the others. If you are right and he is a blood mage, we will need their help," the elf reasoned.

"There's no time," she didn't even pause. She needed to be sure, to see her mother at Gamlen's and laugh about her foolish fears.

"Miriam," Fenris grabbed her shoulders, wincing momentarily as an unpleasant surge shot up his nerves from lyrium lines on his palms. This stopped Hawke, but the rest of her body still stubbornly tried to continue on its way. He spoke quickly, but firmly. "You are always the one who stops and thinks instead of rushing head-first into the battle. So stop and think now, this is the only way you'll help your mother. This is a big city, and she could be anywhere. We need others to find her. We need Aveline and her guards."

"But it will take forever!" she tried to get out of his grasp, but he held her firmly. "Fine… you're right, again. You go to Aveline. I'll check Gamlen's. Meet me there."

"Don't go after her alone," he warned, looking at her grimly, and let her go.

Hawke did not waste any more time. Yet she stopped before the door to her uncle's house to catch her breath. It was a sudden thought that her mother and Gamlen were inside, and she would look really stupid bursting in with wild eyes and city guards at her back. Her mother had to be there.

"Leandra? Maker, where have you…" she heard uncle's annoyed voice as he was opening the door at her frantic knocking. Then he saw her. "Oh, it's you."

"Where's mother?" she did burst in at this point and looked around, still hoping against reason that mother would be there.

"Do come in…" Gamlen rolled his eyes and followed her inside. "She's not here. Something more important that visiting her brother must've come up," he sneered. Hawke could think of many things that were more important and very few reasons for her mother to even talk to her embarrassment of a brother.

But she wasn't here. And if she wasn't here…

"She might be in danger, uncle. We need to find her," she said urgently, trying not to hit him. "There is a murderer in the city that targets women like her."

"What? You think she's…?" Hawke was surprised and somewhat sadistically pleased to see panic on his face. All the time they spent in this city, uncle acted like he'd prefer they all just disappeared and stopped inconveniencing him. But now Gamlen rushed out. "I know the path she usually takes, we'll follow along, maybe find something, or maybe someone saw her!"

'Don't go alone', Fenris told her. But she wasn't alone, was she? She was with Gamlen. And she couldn't wait, she couldn't be late again. A street urchin told them about a wounded man Leandra was helping. Even now it wasn't too difficult to make out a trail of blood they left.

Anger. It was boiling in her as she frantically searched for half-trampled drops of blood on the road or smudges left by a bloodied hand on a wall. It was boiling in her as she started to recognize the way to the foundry where she caught a glimpse of the murderer not so long ago. Back then they searched the place top to bottom, and failed to find anything save for bones and a ring. There was no doubt left now. In her anger she saw only this destination and took little notice of her friends and a few guards joining them, trying to berate her for acting irrationally. She didn't listen; she didn't have time to listen. She couldn't be late again.

The bloody trail led them to the foundry and, once inside, to the trapdoor they missed the first time. How could they miss it? Shades and other creatures of the Fade attacked them every step of the way from here, slowing their progress. It made her even more furious to be so close and still unable to get to her mother.

"Just die, I don't have time for you!" she growled, her daggers creating silvery ribbons in the air with the speed she swung them. But still it was not enough. As the shade that attacked her dissipated, she looked around frantically to see everyone absorbed in fighting. She slipped away, keeping to the shadows.

Suddenly she caught a glimpse of her mother's face, but her heart fell as she realized that it was only a portrait of a woman that looked remarkably like her mother. There were candles carefully arranged among trinkets that must've belonged to the woman and, before the portrait, there was a fresh bouquet of white lilies.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" pleasant, yet hopelessly mad voice commented. Hawke turned right to see a middle-aged man smiling at her. Next to him a woman in white wedding down and veil sat with her back to Miriam. "But the picture doesn't do her justice. I searched so long for her face, and finally found it. You are lucky: you will see what she looked like in life."

"What have you done to my mother?" Hawke demanded, trying to make out something behind the veil. Why didn't she move? Why didn't she turn when she heard her voice?

"Ah, Leandra. Such a sweet and kind woman. She spoke very highly of you. I think she believed until the end that you would come for her," the madman still seemed calm, oblivious both to the young woman seething with anger before him and to the sounds of fighting getting nearer. "But I digress. Behold the true miracle that only love is capable of!" He cupped the bride's chin and made her stand, the glow of magic evident in his touch. The woman slowly turned around and looked at Miriam with vacant dead eyes.

Those eyes looked at her from her mother's face, surrounded by stitches, framed by golden hair that wasn't hers.

Hawke dropped her daggers. She jumped at the maniac bare-handed, grabbing his throat before he could react, her white-hot rage finding release in a surge of magic. There was no incantation recited, no complicated passes. Only pure hatred smashing through all barriers of reason, promises and self-control.

"Miri…" a quiet voice broke through the rushing of blood in her ears. A voice she didn't hope to hear again. This gentle voice soothed the anger away as Hawke let go of the charred body of the madman and rushed to cradle her mother. With the mage dead Leandra did not have enough energy to stand. Miriam could see it, her mother's life slowly slipping away.

Bargaining. She was willing to do it. She understood now how mages fell victim to demons, as she sat there holding her mother, rocking her like a child. Was it even her mother? She didn't care. She could not believe that nothing could be done.

"I knew you'd come for me," Leandra managed a weak smile.

"Shh, don't waste energy," Miriam whispered. "We'll find someone to help you. Just hold on."

"It's alright, child. I will see your father now. And Carver," her mother tried to raise a hand to touch her, and Hawke grabbed it and pressed it to her cheek. It wasn't her mother's hand. But it did not matter. "I have always been so… proud of you… love."

"Mother…?"

"I only wish… I did not leave you here alone," and with that last whisper she was gone. Impossibly thick silence fell in the room. Hawke was aware of many eyes on her, but it seemed no one moved, no one even breathed as she closed her mother's eyes, placing a light kiss on each eyelid, and very gently lowered her body on the ground. No one called out to her as she walked out. No one commented on the burnt remains of the maniac. Later she would pointedly suggest to Aveline that the madman got burned by his own misdirected fireball, and the Guard-Captain would just as pointedly agree with her. Her mother's body would be carried out and many would come to the funeral. The mage's horrible laboratory would be burned to the ground.

But none of that mattered to her as she walked back to her family's home, completely numb and seeing nothing except those dead eyes.

Depression. It enveloped her in a thick blanket, drowning out outside sounds. She didn't cry, the tears just would not come. She was content to just sit on her bed staring in the fire for the rest of her life. It seemed eternity has passed until the door opened with a creak.

"Everyone is down in the hall," Fenris said as softly as he could manage.

"Let me guess, you drew straws and you got the short one?" she didn't joke. It was simply an automatic reaction of her mouth that didn't even require her brain to step in.

"I am not very good at finding words for such times," the elf admitted, coming closer to the bed.

"Good. I don't want to talk."

She was answered with silence. He made no move to leave, but he did not speak either. This silent support was incredibly annoying to her, gritting on her nerves until she blurted out "It's my fault, isn't it?"

"Do you think so?" it didn't escape her how he avoided the answer.

"The meaning of freedom, my dear Fenris… is that you cannot blame anyone for your actions but yourself," she chuckled humorlessly. "If I did not leave her alone, if I worked harder on that case, if I was faster…"

"It is not my place to give you forgiveness. But…" he sat down next to her. "She did not die blaming you. Her last words were of love."

The image of her mother's last smile flooded back into her memory along with her gentle loving voice. Hawke's face contorted as tears finally came. She rushed to Fenris and felt the elf tense as she clutched at him and hid her face in the curve where his neck connected with shoulder. She heard him exhale a slow strained breath and felt his hand on her shoulder in a touch as close to embrace as he was willing to give. And for now it was enough as she sobbed into his tunic making her first steps towards the final stage.

Acceptance.


	5. Plans and stories

A/n: spent the whole morning moving to another office, but I wanted to leave you guys for the weekend with something maybe a bit lighter than Hawke's mom dying, because you are amazing. So this may come as a bit rushed. Still got no work to do, though. Love being a developer)) You just sit reading Pratchett and browsing Internet for a week, and then next week you practically live at work, because the client finally decided on what they want. But I'm ranting again. I'm just going to say again that I love your reviews and appreciate help with typos and mistakes :)

Disclaimer: the usual.

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"It's not enough," Hawke threw one of her knives at the target on the wall. It already looked half-destroyed, but that only made her feel better.

"Of course it's not enough, did you expect templars to hand you over an apostate, because you were such a good girl?" Varric appeared unusually annoyed. It may've had something to do with Hawke throwing knives at the wall from the other end of his room, though. But she really didn't see why that would bother him.

"Even if I look at them like this?" she turned to the dwarf and gave him her best puppy eyes. Next to him Anders choked on his ale. Normally that look was quite effective as Hawke's petite form made her look more like a girl than a woman. She made this her advantage in battle – there was nothing extra, not even hair long enough to grab. She was small and fast, like her favorite daggers. But right now she wasn't cute. She was dressed in simple black clothes to mark her mourning and there was new sternness in her blue eyes.

"Even if you wag your tail… and would you stop making holes in my wall?" Varric rolled his eyes as the knife hit the mark yet again.

"I like throwing stuff when I'm restless," Hawke shrugged.

"I can give you a few much better suggestions on how to relieve… restlessness," Isabela winked at her. Miriam honestly did not know what the pirate was still doing with them. Probably she was in for the free ale. Smirking, Isabela pointed her chin at the elf leaning against the wall by the window. Fenris was… brooding. It wasn't the scowl that did not seem to ever leave his face for long. This time the elf actually appeared to be so deep in thought that he did not notice her eyes on him. As if moody Varric wasn't enough. "Aha! So you're actually considering it!" Isabela interpreted her lingering study of Fenris's features in her own way. Of course she did.

"Don't you know better than to tease a woman with a sharp object in her hands?" Hawke plucked the knife out of the wall and took a few steps back. "So what can I do?"

"I offered you to contact the group that could get her out," Anders reminded.

"Yes, to have her hunted by the templars in the company of potential blood mages and be made tranquil or executed when she's inevitably caught. Why didn't I think of that?" she scoffed. "No… she's safer in the Gallows or with me. I need something… something to make them listen to me, maybe even release her into my custody. We have the money, but…"

"I don't have the money," Isabela raised her hand.

"I vaguely remember you saying something about having to finish your drink first before coming with us and never showing up," Hawke shrugged. "Funny, that."

"Details," the pirate waved her hand dismissively. "Hey, elf, I know you want to give me your share. What would you need it for, anyway?"

Realizing that someone was talking to him, Fenris turned to regard Isabela with a mildly annoyed gaze and then turn back to look out the window.

"You need influence; it's as simple as that. Not just some fancy title, you need those bigwigs to actually listen to you," Varric said.

"So… what's their biggest pain in the ass that we can get rid of?" Hawke tapped her chin thoughtfully with a knife's handle.

"The Qunari, of course. You make them go away – you're the hero."

"Oh, that's all?" Miriam threw the knife. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

"What would you do without me, Raven?" Varric opened his arms with wide gesture. "Just stop torturing my wall, and I'll tell you all about this dwarf that's been trying to approach our horned friends."

"That's a start, at least," Hawke sheathed the knife and crossed her arms, listening to the tale of long and painful negotiations on some exploding powder. The dwarf seemed to be at his wit's end and was now hiring – or trying to hire, - mercenaries to permanently deal with the Tal-Vashoth, a rebel group of Qunari, as far as she understood. As it happened, they also presented a problem for the city with their frequent attacks on caravans, and that might've just been the kind of problem they could rid the viscount of for starters.

"One last question," Hawke said when Varric finished his proposition. "What's with the moodiness?"

"That bad, huh?" the dwarf looked down into his mug. "I hear Bartrand's back in town."

Even Fenris's ears perked up at that news. As for Hawke, Bartrand would always have a special place in her heart. The one labeled "throw the traitorous bastard into a room full of darkspawn and watch". Everything they had to endure to get out of the Deep Roads surfaced in her memory.

"Really? Well, we should come over with some cake. Give him a little welcome home present, catch up on old times…" she put hands on her hips.

"Bianca wants to give him a kiss," the dwarf petted his crossbow. "Just need some time to get clear on details. You know, like how many cakes we should prepare."

She visited Fenris later that evening to find him in the company of a half-empty bottle. His bad mood seemed to retreat before drunken cheerfulness. His own special kind of cheerfulness that Varric characterized as "brooding", of course.

"Any reason you couldn't do this with us earlier?" she asked, taking her usual sit. They spent many evenings here with the rest of their friends or just the two of them, during the time she was avoiding her mother. And still Fenris stood apart from them. He could be convinced to join them for an occasional game, but somehow he always seemed to be alone even in a crowded room while Isabela was pestering him with her innuendos.

"I'm celebrating," he gave her a lopsided smile that seemed bitter somehow, despite drunkenly smug tone of voice.

"Did we miss your birthday and mortally offended you, driving you to drink alone in seclusion of your dark mansion?" she pulled the bottle out of his unresisting hand and took a sip. Agreggio. Celebrating, indeed.

"Today is four years since my escape," he leaned back in his chair.

"Ah. Happy birthday, then," she saluted him with the bottle. "Still, you could tell us earlier, there would be a party."

"I didn't want to," the elf shrugged. "I never talked about this with anyone. Never wanted to."

"Tell me," she asked, surprising herself and probably him with her straight-forwardness. He never spoke about his past, remaining a mystery to them all after a year of struggling and drinking and losing together. She never asked, not wanting to stir up painful and shameful things that undoubtedly were there – Miriam wasn't one for believing that clawing at old wounds made things better. And she doubted he would tell her anyway: pretty early in their acquaintance he made it clear that he neither needed nor wanted pity. But perhaps now he needed to share the story, if only to achieve some closure. And stories needed ears to listen to them.

Fenris gave her a long look before Agreggio or simply four years of carrying that story around finally made him talk. He related the events of Qunari attack on Seheron impassively, as if reading it from a history book. Only when it came to his master's return that he needed another drink to continue the story. Miriam didn't know what to make of it, whether to blame him for killing the rebels who saved him, or to be glad that the act at least opened his eyes.

"You know, I've been thinking… I'd really like to look at this Danarius," she said after a while. Fenris shifted his gaze from the fireplace he'd been staring at while they sat in silence. She smirked and leaned on her elbow. "I mean the man must be the laughing stock of the Imperium, running around after an escaped slave for four years and failing every time. And now you live in his mansion and he still can't do anything."

Fenris matched her smirk, visibly relaxing. "You are… very unusual woman," he said, finishing the wine.

"If you mean deadly, gorgeous and deviously witty, then yes," she picked an imaginary mote of her sleeve.

"Quite," he agreed, smiling lopsidedly. Miriam couldn't decide if she liked this drunken Fenris or if he creeped her out. "I'd been meaning to ask you something."

"Oh? This should be good," she looked at him expectantly.

"I saw the body of that mage…" he let the words hang in the air.

"Of course you did," she left her chair to go stand by the window.

"You hide it well," he took a place on the other side, obviously not going to drop the subject. Not so drunk then.

"That's kinda the point, no?" she narrowed her eyes. "You use it and get locked up for it, or you hide it and live. No one will lock me up." There was defiance in her voice, as if she was challenging him to try.

"Yet you help templars hunt your kind," Fenris pointed out, looking at her searchingly.

"My kind? I've never wanted this! I'm sick and tired of this life of running and fearing and hiding!" the wine was nudging her on, heating her cheeks and making head light. "I just want to be normal, to live normal life in a normal house! But every time I come close to it, I lose it all! You asked me what to do when you stopped running? I don't know! I sure never managed to stop long enough to try!"

She paused, breathing heavily, and Fenris just kept watching her, perhaps surprised at how similar they seemed to be. Miriam pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the window and closed her eyes, calming gradually. He did not deserve her fury. All his life mages tortured and humiliated him, perhaps the only free world he could see was a world without magic. And she… she would gladly give up that sparkle within her that made her feared and fearful. There was something wrong with this world, but if there was any answer, it wasn't in setting all mages free to do as they pleased with their power and it wasn't locking them up simply for manifesting this gift. If there was another answer, she couldn't see it. She could only fight for her family and friends and leave such global decisions to someone else. Some famous hero, perhaps.

"When Danarius comes for you, I will be at your side," she finally said. "Will you be, when the templars come for me?"

"Unless they have the real reason to," he said resolutely.

"I wouldn't expect any less," she smiled without looking at him.


	6. Agressive diplomacy

A/n: miss me? There was an error preventing me from editing this story and it took some time for the support to react, but it seems to be fixed now.

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

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"It would be a lot easier, you know," Anders undid her bandages and winced at the sight. Miriam smiled absently. Sometime during their way back the pain was replaced by light-headed feeling not unlike one she'd get after a pint of whatever passed for ale in the Hanged Man. She felt sleepy and slightly nauseated. And vaguely remembered a giant axe sinking into her shoulder. "If you used magic, I mean," the healer clarified when his first sentence failed to elicit any reaction.

"Yeah… good to be a mage," Hawke sighed wistfully. She had to admit, antagonizing giant horned men armed with axes and spears as thick as her arm wasn't the brightest of her ideas. She blamed Varric. Although it was refreshing to see Isabela fighting with them… and searching the bodies and the cave for valuables with somewhat worrying enthusiasm.

"You are a mage," Anders rolled his eyes and, probably realizing how little she was fit right now for coherent conversation, hovered his hand above the wound and closed his eyes. The expression of deep concentration settled on his face.

"Am not!" Hawke squinted at the pale blue light that caused her shoulder to prickle unpleasantly and settled for studying the mage. He always looked tired, as if someone always poked him as soon as he managed to fall asleep. That probably wasn't the case, unless he got a cat again after all. Knowing Anders, he worked in his clinic whenever he was needed, casting healing spells right and left to the point of exhaustion, and then probably went to help the mysterious underground resistance he kept talking about. No wonder the man couldn't find time to get a decent shave, not to mention sleep. Sometimes Varric managed to drag him out to the Hanged Man, and there they could see glimpses of what probably was Anders before Justice: funny and charming, full of hilarious stories. Miriam sighed, contemplating grief caused to both sides of this centuries old conflict, and yelped when Anders prodded her shoulder.

"What if you lost your arm?" he chided tiredly.

"Well… I could beat them with it, that would definitely improve my reach," she tried to shrug, but was stopped by the mage. It wasn't that bad, really. Granted, there was a lot of blood, but she did pride herself on not passing out, however close she came to that.

Of course, she could bring him along and thus save the trip back to the clinic, but Hawke just didn't have the heart to. She admired his efforts to help refugees and couldn't ask a healer to do the work of a butcher. And that was exactly what they did with the Tal-Vashoth. Were they bad? She didn't even know. During the battle survival instincts just kicked in, and it was 'us or them' since that. _But let's not forget the reason it became us or them._ What little she knew of the Qunari suggested that every one of them was bound to the role that was not even of their choosing. Perhaps these Tal-Vashoth outcasts merely did not agree with this arrangement and were shunned for this. Then again, they could just be violent unprincipled refuse of the strict and proper Qunari society. Her shoulder definitely screamed 'I don't like them' right now.

She felt someone's heavy gaze on her and looked up to meet Fenris's eyes. The elf was leaning on the wall near the exit and wasn't looking particularly happy. Of course, he never looked happy. But these days it seemed he was constantly watching her. Merrill would nudge her and giggle, or tease Fenris about his alleged puppy eyes, but Hawke was pretty sure affection had nothing to do with it. Right now he was probably expecting Anders to convince her to become an abomination and frolic happily with him through the city, spreading death and destruction in their wake.

Hawke raised her eyebrow questioningly and he pushed himself off the wall and walked over to them. The elf and the healer exchanged hostile glances that made Miriam wince. A mage abused by 'normal' people and a 'normal' man abused by mages. She would swap them for a cat and a dog anytime. Less barking and hissing, more cuteness.

"How are you?" the elf inspected her shoulder with a frown and shot another distrustful look at Anders.

"I'll live," Hawke moved her wounded shoulder tentatively. Much better. She smiled gratefully at Anders and the mage answered with an exhausted smile of his own.

"So you keep saying. Javaris is waiting for us at the compound. Are you sure you're well enough to face them?"

"Hey I could take on Arishok with only my left hand, if needed!" she jumped off the bed and immediately lost balance as her vision faded to black, but was supported by both men, none looking too happy about it. In fact, Anders looked like he was about to fall over himself and Fenris was wearing a stoic expression of someone determined to hold on to a live coal. "Probably holding on to a wall with the right hand, though. And if he would stand still."

"You've lost a lot of blood," Anders sat back on the bed when she disengaged herself from them.

"Yeah, I know. Let's hope Arishok won't notice the paleness."

He didn't. But the meeting was embarrassing anyway. She still blamed Varric.

It turned out Javaris did not, in fact, have any agreement with the Arishok. All in all, if Fenris did not speak up suddenly, addressing the Qunari in his own language, Miriam wasn't sure they would walk out of there on their own. The Qunari were alien and radiated strange calm menace. Not to mention they were bloody massive and horned. Somehow, after having a fairly friendly talk with the Arishok, you walked away doing mental check of yourself and finding, not without surprise, all your limbs still intact.

If some good could still come out of this venture, it would be at the viscount's palace. They would announce that they had eradicated the Tal-Vashoth, present the proof, bow graciously as the viscount poured out his thanks, granted titles etcetera and then, maybe, finally get some rest.

As if.

Not that she really counted on an audience with the viscount, but the crowd of irritated people in fancy clothes suggested that no one could get that audience, and that was somewhat comforting. They did, however, manage to catch the seneschal. It was one of the perks of being friends with the Guard-Captain. The fact that the seneschal was quite familiar with their merry band did not hurt either, which was, in Hawke's opinion, quite surprising.

"The viscount's son went missing," he explained once in the privacy of his office. "We suspect the Qunari."

Miriam groaned behind Aveline. She already could see them hacking and burning their way through the Qunari to save the boy, and then the war would break out, the city would burn, but they would all be dead long before that.

"The Winters and several other mercenary groups have already begun their search," the seneschal would sneer with disdain if he wasn't so well-mannered.

Hawke wasn't so well-mannered. She slapped her forehead with her palm. Yes, definitely a war. Still, she wanted a chance to make an impression on the viscount, didn't she? And there it was.

"I wouldn't trust those mercenaries to bring the viscount's son alive and unharmed," she stepped forward, briefly glancing at Aveline. "Trust me. I've seen them at work. What you need are people who can solve this diplomatically, if at all possible, or can deal with the Qunari, if needed."

"And you are those people, I take it?" the seneschal didn't seem to be impressed.

"Indeed. We've had dealings with the Qunari, both peaceful and otherwise," she did not see fit to mention that those dealings were only this morning and consisted of their group barely making it out of the Tal-Vashoth caves alive thanks to Merrill's magic and then probably barely making it out of the Qunari compound alive thanks to Fenris's unexpected knowledge of their culture. The latter still felt that way, anyhow.

"Very well. Although, I hope, you will avoid hostilities if you run into other groups on the Wounded Coast," the seneschal's face very clearly suggested that he did not, in any way, just give them a hint at where the mercenaries definitely didn't track the viscount's son down to. "You are, after all, working for the common cause."

"We are discretion personified," Hawke promised, smiling charmingly. She wasn't at all sure they could do it, especially tired as they were. But it wasn't a chance you could just turn your back on and go to sleep.

They were too late, however. Their search along the Wounded Coast brought them to a most unusual sight. Amidst the wreckage of a camp a young man in fine clothes knelt before a dead Qunari screaming something desperately in their language at a woman standing before him, tears streaming down his cheeks. Miriam didn't understand a word of what he was saying, but the intonations were clear enough.

"Ginnis!" she exclaimed in overjoyed voice, extending her arms towards the woman. Hawke and her sister had had a few run-ins with the Winters back when they were working off their debt to Athenril. These mercenaries were a kind of people just talking to who leaves not only a bad taste in your mouth, but also a lingering smell. Ginnis was a woman of questionable personal hygiene, the question being 'Does she ever touch water?' Maybe she hoped to use all the grime covering her body as another layer of light armor, Hawke could just believe it was possible. "A fine day for a picnic, isn't it? I like what you did to your hair… is that dried blood or mud?"

"Hawke," the unwashed woman growled, immediately assuming position between Miriam and the boy. "He's mine. You're too late."

"Oh, did I interrupt a date? My most heartfelt apologies," Hawke bowed graciously and turned to leave, discreetly scanning the area for more mercenaries. So far it was nothing they couldn't handle, but if she knew anything about the Winters, it was that they never took any chances.

"Wait, serrah!" the young man suddenly jumped to his feet. "This… woman killed my friend! I'll go back to my father if I must, but not with her!"

"Well, you heard the boy," Hawke smiled unpleasantly.

"Screw you!" the mercenaries drew their blades and charged at them.

It was all the invitation Hawke needed. She easily dodged Ginnis's attacks, taunting the older woman with her fluid movements. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the others fighting the mercenaries. The Winters were a collection of variably vicious cutthroats who made up with pure aggression for what they lacked in skill. Compared to them her friends were fascinating. Fenris, encircled by mildly frightened mercenaries, swung that impossibly long and heavy sword of his in complicated patterns, managing to hit several enemies at once, not even bothering to use his lyrium markings for such crude opponents. While they tried to get close enough to him without being cut in two, Isabela would jump at their unprotected backs, her daggers seeking out breaches in their armor. Varric, liberally discharging his faithful Bianca at everyone who was simply unlucky, entertained Merrill with his commentaries of the fight, while the elf was bringing down the power of nature itself on those who escaped Varric's bolts.

"What's wrong, Hawke, can't get in range?" Ginnis growled, swinging at her. She could. In fact, she saw several openings at that very moment. The problem was that all of them required the use of her increasingly hurting arm.

"You're one to talk," she retorted, sidestepping to avoid another attack. In other circumstances she could go on like this for a long time, but it was getting increasingly difficult to deal with pain and weakness. Part of her brain was counting down sarcastically to the moment she'd trip over her own ankle. It couldn't continue for much longer.

Gathering her strength, Hawke lunged at her opponent, only to find Ginnis looking very surprised at the large sword protruding from her chest.

"Hey!" Miriam protested as Fenris pulled his sword out. The elf raised his eyebrow in that infuriatingly calm manner she came to occasionally hate.


	7. Family reunion

A/n: helluva week. Your reviews make me really ashamed that I can't update daily like I used too anymore...

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"Kinda reminds you of Fenris's place, doesn't it?" Miriam twirled a throwing knife lazily in her fingers. They stood in shadows on the other side of the street, watching the dark house. To anyone passing here the house would look long abandoned. The windows were dark, not a sound seemed to reach them from the inside, and she could even make out a spider web adorning the main entrance, its strings glistening in street lights.

"Maybe they should have tea together on Sundays. With cakes," Varric offered, not taking his eyes off the house. The dwarf seemed anxious, which was not surprising, considering whom this house belonged to.

"You're not coming to play diamondback tomorrow," Fenris informed him calmly.

Still, Hawke had to admit a certain dejа vu feeling about this situation. Once again they were watching a dark mansion in the Hightown, intent on bursting into said mansion and exacting revenge on its owner. Except this time they'd probably fight between themselves for the right to kill Bartrand, if they did not grudgingly admit that it was Varric's right. Normally Hawke would abhor the thought of killing her friend's relative, but the greedy scumbag did leave them in the Deep Roads to die.

"How do you want to play this?" she asked the dwarf.

"I want to burst through the main doors, put down all of his guards single-handedly and then listen to the nug-humper beg for forgiveness on his knees," Varric said through gritted teeth. "But we can't always get what we want, so backdoor it is."

"Are you sure about this? He is your brother," Merrill asked uncertainly, while Hawke and Fenris simply checked their weapons.

"That just makes what he did even worse, Daisy. Come on," the dwarf quietly made his way to the other side of the street and around the house, the others right behind him.

Once Hawke picked the lock, they were greeted by several bodies lying amongst smashed furniture. The house looked as dark and uninhabited on the inside as it did on the outside, and yet these bodies looked relatively fresh.

"Unlucky burglars?" Hawke guessed, trying not to breathe.

"Not unless they came to steal from Bartrand what he owned them after the expedition," Varric said, looking at the body he rolled over. Despite bruises covering the man's face, it was still possible to recognize one of the mercenaries who went with them to the Deep Roads.

"Something feels wrong here," Merrill murmured thoughtfully. All eyes turned to her and the young elf faltered at this sudden attention, drawing back and trying to seem smaller. "Don't you feel it?"

"We should be cautious," Miriam said slowly, still not taking her eyes off the mage. When Merrill said something like this, Hawke always found herself looking over her shoulder for demons and blood mages. A distant shout followed by crash deeper in the house made her jump. "Or fast. Varric?"

"Do you suppose someone dropped a chair on their fingers while refurnishing?" the dwarf casually readied his crossbow.

"Sure. We should go help them."

It wasn't long until they encountered the source of the sounds they heard earlier and, evidently, the bodies and destroyed furniture. These were indeed the men Bartrand hired for the expedition, but they were barely recognizable now. The mercenaries were dirty and covered in bruises, fresh cuts, even in what looked like bite marks, their clothes and armor in complete disarray. Their eyes were frighteningly hollow, lit only by raw frenzy.

Miriam did not have much time to examine them, however. The mercenaries seemed as eager to attack the intruders as they were to fight among themselves. Fortunately, blind rage rarely could prevail over skill, and one look in those eyes was enough to assure the most reluctant that it was an act of mercy to put down these men. Soon the room fell silent.

Judging by Varric's incredulous face, he was about to comment when Fenris raised his hand, silencing him. That was when Hawke heard it – a tiny, pathetic sound coming from the wardrobe. Silently, she moved to its side, while Varric pointed his crossbow at the doors. Miriam opened one of the doors quickly to reveal a very frightened dwarf sitting inside. There was a moment of silence while everybody took in the view and mentally filed the opposite side under appropriate category.

"Varric!" the dwarf hissed finally.

"Hugin," Varric stated incredulously.

"Shhh, not so loud, they'll hear us!" the dwarf tried to close the door, but Hawke kept holding on to it. "Those bloody lunatics are everywhere!"

"It's alright, Hugin, we killed them," Varric tried to calm him, but the dwarf only shushed him desperately, so he was forced to lower the volume, if only to elicit a response. "What's going on here?"

The dwarf Varric called Hugin looked very carefully out of his shelter in the wardrobe and quickly darted back in. Then he made another attempt to free the door, but Hawke kept it open, staring at the dwarf's antics with curiosity. Was it another side of the madness that seemed to turn everyone else they encountered into homicidal maniacs? Although, she had to admit, hiding from said maniacs was a very sane thing to do. Much saner than, say, looking for these maniacs like they did. Finally resigning to the fact that the door would stay open, Hugin retreated further in and glared at Hawke.

"It's Bartrand," he grumbled. "Ever since he came back with his blighted idol and his blighted madmen. Kept going on about some music, or something. Now he went and locked himself in the study with some servants, haven't been out for days and good riddance!" with sudden strength he wrested the door out of Hawke's hands and shut it. "Now go away! They'll hear you!"

"The idol," Merrill said slowly. Miriam nodded thoughtfully. She could already see on Varric's face the same thought she had, a sudden hope that his brother betrayed him and left to die only because he was already under the influence of the artifact they found in the Deep Roads. Hawke knew better, however. She had the idol in her hands for the same time it required for Bartrand to get to the door and shut it behind him, leaving them trapped. Perhaps the idol had some part in this decision, but Aveline was right, Bartrand was not the most honorable being to begin with.

"Let's go. Now we know where Bartrand is," Varric turned away from the wardrobe, eyeing the door anxiously.

"But we can't just leave him here!" Merrill objected, frowning.

"Bugger off! They'll hear you and come here!" came irritated voice muffled by the wardrobe's doors.

"Here's your answer," Hawke shrugged. "We'll get him on our way out."

Their way to the study was not much different from what they've already seen. Still, despite terrible mess, dead bodies and raving maniacs slowing them down, they finally stood before muttering mess of a dwarf they knew as Bartrand. The dwarf stood amidst the pools of blood and hips of bones, not noticing them. It took a while to even make him recognize his brother, but when he finally did, Bartrand's face suddenly broke into the most horrible ingratiating smile Hawke's ever seen.

"Varric! It's so good you're here! You'll help me find it, won't you, little brother?"

Varric seemed to be torn between disgust and pity. But still, there was a question he came here to ask.

"Do you even realize that you left us to die, Bartrand?" he jerked away from his brother when Bartrand tried to catch his hand. "Now you want our help?"

"I just want to hear the song again, the beautiful song," the dwarf kept begging, probably not even aware of them anymore, talking to someone invisible. "We should never have sold it to that woman! She won't worship it like we did… she doesn't deserve to hear the song!"

Looking at him now, Hawke no longer thought about revenge. In a way, Bartrand has exacted their revenge on himself when he took that idol. The more serious problem was the idol itself, now sold to someone to drive them mad, and then… passed to yet another victim?

"Where is the idol, Bartrand?" she stepped in. "Whom did you sell it to?"

"You… you want the idol for yourself, don't you?" his hopelessly insane eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You won't have it!"

Bartrand suddenly lunged at her, but, before he could reach Miriam, Varric jumped between them, plunging a dagger into his brother's heart. Even as he went down, Bartrand's last words were of 'the beautiful song'.

"Let's go," Varric turned away and started walking. All they could do was follow silently.

"I am sorry about your brother," Merrill said hesitantly when they walked out the main doors. "You did a good thing."

"Probably," Varric just stood there for a moment, breathing deeply the fresh night air. It was a welcome change after stale air of the house smelling of blood and rotting corpses. "The idol, though… I'll keep an eye out for it."

"You do that. But right now we're going to get you drunk," Hawke stretched.

"You? Get me drunk? You kids don't stand a chance," the dwarf chuckled.

"Wanna bet?" Miriam looked over her shoulder at the door. "Why do I get this feeling like we've forgotten something?"

_Hugin sat in his wardrobe, listening intently. It was silent outside for quite some time now, too quiet. They were probably sitting there, waiting for him to relax and open the door, and then..._

"The dwarf," Fenris said matter-of-factually. Miriam slapped her forehead.


	8. Associations

A/n: now, I know many of you expected a Fenris-centered chapter after the last one. So here's "The mystery of the red thingy on his wrist". Sadly, that was too long for a title ;) I'm aware that in game that red cloth is holding something there, but I'll be damned if I know what that is. And you've probably noticed that I changed a lot of things in this whole story anyway.

* * *

Fenris raised an eyebrow questioningly when she dumped a book and a pile of papers on the table with a smug look on her face. Miriam found herself mildly distracted by a small cloud of dust that was now slowly settling back. He really didn't do much to make this place livable. Everything that was here belonged to the previous owner of the house, except for Fenris's weapon and armor that lied in a heap by the bed. But there was nothing else to indicate that the elf lived here – no memorable trinkets collected on his journeys, no personal belongings, not even a brush. He was practically a ghost, or maybe a slave that had no possessions of his own. She assumed he was rather proud to have taken this place from Danarius, but didn't really know what to do with it now. Or maybe he hated the thought of cleaning the house like a slave. That would certainly explain all the spider webs and dust.

Hawke shook her head ruefully. The elf was a mystery. He was strong, practically a one-man army with his huge sword and lyrium markings, and smart, often pointing out things she missed or stirring her in the right direction, when her own judgment failed her. And yet, for all his prowess on battlefield, Fenris often baffled her by his inability to grasp simple things that were natural for her. Like how easy it would be to hire people to repair the mansion, and to buy this mansion for that matter. He certainly had the money for it, if she had the money to buy back her family's estate. And they could indeed ensure that an elf would be allowed to live in Hightown. After all, Fenris was one of those who saved the viscount's son. Instead, he preferred to hide here, using Aveline's kindness to keep the authorities off his back. But he had to understand that it was a temporary measure at best. Maybe he just hadn't planned to stay for long?

"Hawke?"

She jumped and raised her eyes to look at the elf. Fenris stood by the table, appearing slightly amused by her reaction.

"I promised to teach you, didn't I?" she asked almost defensively.

"You had a lot on your mind since," he said carefully, looking at the papers she brought with badly concealed curiosity. Overtime she had learnt to read these subtle changes in his expression, the ones that indicated that he was 'perfectly content' when to an unfamiliar eye he would seem brooding. There was a lot of pent up anger and fear behind this guarded exterior, she knew. She could only guess how much, however.

"Yes, well… still not good of me to neglect my friends," Miriam winced slightly at the reminder. Memories of the evening she made that offer were still quite fresh. Thankfully, Fenris would not let her dwell on those memories. Maybe he knew how she needed this distraction, a reason not to stay alone in her empty house.

"What should I do?" the elf pulled the chair closer to the table and sat, waiting for her to take another one.

"Let's see," she turned her chair around so that its back touched the table and knelt on it. She found the prospect of teaching someone how to read strangely exciting, and, whatever negative emotions were stirred up, they were forgotten for now. "You need to memorize letters first..."

She should have expected it to be awkward, however. Teaching a grown man wasn't the same as quietly helping cute little Bethany with her 'homework'. She was more used to Fenris tearing people's hearts out, not diligently tracing out letters, his eyebrows set into a frown of deep concentration. Considering that tearing-hearts-out part, it was rather difficult to carefully point out his mistakes. Maybe she should've brought wine?

"No, you just need to remember the difference between 'd' and 'b', it'll come naturally after that," Hawke was rocking on her chair, looking impatiently over his shoulder. It seemed so strange that someone really didn't know how to write... Maybe that was the reason she expected Fenris to pick up on it immediately, not to struggle with letters. And now she needed to come up with a way to help him without hurting his pride... A sudden thought made her smile. "You know, father always used associations when we needed to memorize something. Really silly ones for spells, too. I couldn't cast my first fireballs, because I was laughing so hard at..." she stopped, looking down at Fenris. "You're not practicing."

"You've been taught to use magic, and yet you always use daggers," the elf turned back to the sheet of paper, but Miriam could see that his mind was no longer on letters. She cursed silently at herself for bringing this up. "You say you are afraid of templars, but other apostates use magic."

"Hey, I like my daggers. They're shiny," she said defensively. "And aren't you glad I don't use magic?"

"I am. But I'm wondering about your reasons," as always with this topic, there was an edge to his voice. Whenever she managed to forget about his hatred for magic – and, subsequently, for Miriam herself, - something would always come up to bite her. Hawke sighed and slumped on her chair.

"It was an amazing game, when I was a child. I loved 'magic tricks' that father would teach me. I remember how happy and proud I was when I lit my first candle," she chuckled, her eyes looking through time at better, simpler life. She was vaguely aware of Fenris putting down his quill and watching her. "It was all about control and precision, you know, even then. He never taught us to create huge firestorms and freeze rivers. He'd said it was much easier to burn a forest than to light a candle. He wanted us to control our powers, for our sake and for those around us."

"Your father sounds like a wise man," Fenris admitted grudgingly.

"He was," Hawke smiled wanly. "Kind and funny, too. Kind of like Anders, but without creepy. No, don't look at me like that. Anders is a good man."

"For how much longer?" the elf scoffed. "So you were learning to use magic and were happy about it. What changed?"

"As I was getting older, I was beginning to realize how lonely it was to be an apostate. No one outside my family could know about this, we had to move constantly, I couldn't even play with other children for risk of my magic accidentally showing... I blamed father, of course. Any child would. I hated him," Miriam shook her head ruefully and touched the tattoo on her face. "I even got this to anger him. Ran off and... boy, was he furious. It never faded completely, no matter what he did. And now he's gone..."

Fenris waited for her to continue, but she just didn't know what end to pick out of the bundle of old childish offenses and hurts. Finally, he spoke up, if only to shook her out of melancholy.

"You once mentioned he was ill. Could you not heal him with magic?"

"I've never learnt to heal," Miriam shook her head again. "It's not just spell, you need a spirit to help you, you know. And that attracts... other kinds of spirits. I guess that's why there aren't many healers among mages."

"Or maybe healing is less effective than, say, mindcontrolling your enemy, when you want to rise to power."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Yes, some mages are jerks. Also, I heard, Teyrn Loghain destroyed half an army without any magic. And that fruit vendor round the corner shamelessly inflates prices. I'm pretty sure that without magic people would invent other effective ways to kill each other. The thing is... I wanted normal life. And all my life up to that point was a proof that I couldn't have it until I gave up magic. Which meant I had to find some other way to protect my family. Hence the daggers."

"Control and precision."

"Exactly," Miriam grinned, but soon became serious again. "Bethany never agreed with me on this. She still thinks of magic as a gift, a wonderful talent... and a part of father that she always has with her."

"And what if you ever need magic to protect someone?" Fenris asked stubbornly.

"You expect me to give my word that I won't do it? I honestly don't know," she shrugged, practically feeling his disappointment in the air. "After all this time, though... in danger, a dagger really comes more naturally than a fireball."

"That is good to hear, at least. I would hate to see you give in," the elf was still looking at her intently. Miriam had to believe that she imagined a silent plea in those strange moss-green eyes. She gave him a strained smile after a few seconds and cleared her throat.

"So... if that answers your question, let's get back to the letters," Hawke turned back to the table. Normally she prided herself for quick thinking, but this time she felt incredibly awkward. "My father had a point, it's easier to remember things when you come up with associations for them. Sooo, 'b' points right, that's why..." she untied a red scarf that she took to wearing lately. It was Bethany's, the girl was positively obsessed with scarves... another reminder of family Miriam lost. "You're going to look at your right hand and remember the difference..."

"There's no 'b' in 'scarf'," Fenris pointed out, looking rather dubiously at his right arm as she tied the scarf around his wrist.

"True," Hawke agreed. "Would you like me to use my breeches instead?"


	9. Shepherding wolves

A/n: some of you may have misunderstood what I said in the last chapter… I know that the red band is Hawke's favor, but it seems really strange to me that he's suddenly wearing it and the Hawke family crest right after getting out of bed while Hawke still slept. Not to mention I don't see him wearing the crest at that time, if at all, because it kind of make it look like he's Hawke's property. So I don't think this is an implication he would be able to overlook back when he walked out on her. The band – yes, but not the crest. Maybe much later, after killing Danarius… And in that chapter I only explained how he got the scarf, it doesn't mean he started wearing it, so keep that in mind ;)

* * *

"I need your help."

Miriam looked up from the letter she was writing. Anders was at it again. Every once in a while he would attack her with arguments that were supposed to make her feel ashamed of even living in the same city with Meredith. The healer wielded guilt like a flaming sword of vengeance, which, in his case, was probably a really bad comparison to say aloud. He would calm down soon, of course, but then yet another injustice would wind him up…

Hawke admired the man, she really did. Anders was giving all his energy to help people in the Darktown, every day risking arrest for using his powers so openly. And then he'd give even more to the battle he knew was helpless, even if he would never admit it.

"What are we going to do today, put glue on Knight-Commander's chair?" she asked calmly, putting the quill beside the letter.

"Aren't we funny today," Anders shifted impatiently and folded his arms. There was fire in his eyes that told Hawke he was seriously set on doing something probably stupid and dangerous. _Ah well. _"I need to get someone out of the city."

Hawke winced. Anders was probably right, it was somewhat hypocritical of her to insist on her own freedom while not extending the same convictions on the others 'of her own kind', as he put it. They've reached an impasse in that argument long ago.

"Another one of your blood mages?" Fenris walked out from behind one of the bookcases. A book in his hand was full of small pieces of paper used as bookmarks and notes. If she wasn't so annoyed with what would undoubtedly unwind into another round of barking and hissing, Hawke would smile at the endearing sight that was the elf without his intimidating gauntlets, a book in his hands and a pencil tucked behind his ear.

"They weren't _my_ blood mages," Anders replied testily, glaring at the elf. "They were just some poor fools driven to despair by templars!"

_And here we go again…_

"Mages will always find an excuse to resort to blood magic," Fenris said with carefully contained hatred in his voice, closing the book and putting it on a shelf.

"As if you haven't done worse things to secure your freedom, you hypocrite!" the healer threw up his arms. Miriam hid her face in her palms.

"I made no accord with any demon," the elf glanced at Hawke, her presence probably the only thing that always kept him from killing the 'abomination'. Sometimes she was tempted to just let them fight it out and then kill whoever won, out of sheer annoyance. That would put a stop to all the snapping. As it were, she just contented herself with ensuring they met as rarely as possible.

"Stop it, both of you," she said through her hands. Anders stopped mid-sentence, turning to her. They would probably ignore an angry command, but not this quiet, tired voice. The healer's expression immediately became guilty. "Who is your friend, Anders?"

"Not a friend… You need to see him. Please," he glanced shortly at Fenris. "Both of you."

"Fine, I'll go with you," she rose to her feet and looked questioningly on Fenris. The elf rolled his eyes and reached for his gauntlets.

"We're going to Lowtown, come on!" Anders rushed out of the library.

Fenris made to follow, but Hawke stopped him and reached for his ear. The elf flinched away slightly at first, which was the reaction she came to expect, but then let her do whatever she intended with a bemused expression on his face. Miriam smirked and showed him the forgotten pencil.

"Doesn't go with your sexy dangerous look. Not bad for the cozy bookwormish one, mind you," she put the pencil away.

"I'll keep that in mind," he chuckled a little uneasily.

The Lowtown was crowded and smelly, as always. Anders led them away from the shouts of the market and into the shadier part of what wasn't the most respectable place in Kirkwall to begin with. There he navigated to an unremarkable storehouse door. Hawke had to roll her eyes. It seemed that storehouses in Kirkwall were meant to be used as places for secret meetings of any kind. The City Guard should've just raided those and crime level would go down significantly. A look at Fenris confirmed that he was thinking the same thing.

"And sometimes they store things in these," he muttered. They shared a smirk.

Once they were inside and Hawke's eyes got used to the dim light, she reached for her weapons.

"No, don't. This is the one we need to help!" Anders stopped her.

"A Saarebas," Fenris stated.

Miriam relaxed her hands and took a closer look at the creature that stood impassively before them. He had grey skin and well-developed musculature typical for a Qunari, but that was where the similarities ended. His horns seemed to be sawed off, a metal mask covered his eyes, and his lips… his lips were definitely sewed together. As if that wasn't enough, heavy chains were tied around his shoulders, making it impossible to raise his arms.

"Who… did this to him?" she asked quietly, not taking her eyes off the… creature?

"He is a Saarebas. A Qunari mage," Fenris clarified calmly.

"You mean… his own people did his?" Miriam turned to the elf.

"The Qunari understand that mages are dangerous and cannot control themselves. That is why they are bound and have to be led by another, an Arwaarad."

"What kind of heartless bastards would treat a mage like this?" Anders spat.

"You misunderstand. Saarebas are treated with outmost respect, the Qunari pity and honor their sacrifice."

"_Their_ sacrifice? As if they are given a choice!"

The Saarebas gurgled something, effectively cutting off the argument as all eyes turned back to him.

"How did you come to hold his leash?" Fenris asked the mage after a while.

"What? I don't hold his…!" Anders exhaled slowly, calming himself. "A sister of the Chantry showed him to me and asked to lead him quietly out of the city and free him."

"A Saarebas cannot function on his own. That would be meaningless."

"Must be better than to live bound like this and used as a weapon," Hawke sighed. She was sure this would bring trouble. But trouble poured into her life whatever she did, and this creature… "Even death would probably be better."

Anders positively shined at her words. Thankfully, not with Justice's creepy light. Fenris just gave her a look that spelled _this is a bad idea, but do what you want_.

"We can get to the sewers from here," the healer lifted a trapdoor. "Shouldn't be too hard to get him out."

It wasn't too hard. The Saarebas seemed completely indifferent about where he was led. Hawke was even beginning to believe that they'd lead him out without trouble, but they just had to encounter a group of smugglers right by the exit, bringing in their goods to stash, by the way it looked. The two groups just stood there motionlessly for a long moment, staring at each other.

"Are you… some kind of… Qunari lover?" one of the smugglers finally managed.

"Are you some kind of large sewer rats?" Hawke intoned, blinking stupidly.

"What are you standing there for? They'll rat us out, kill them!" another smuggler, apparently the leader, shouted.

That was when the world suddenly exploded. Miriam watched the fallen smugglers, and this time her blinking wasn't pretence. She reached up to check if her eyebrows were still in place. When she confirmed that they indeed were, she turned to the Saarebas. The Qunari was looking around with a stance of an animal ready to attack.

"Calm him down, you're his lead!" Fenris urged her, keeping away from the raging fires.

"It's alright, we're safe now, Qunari!" Hawke waved her hands in front of him. "Stop it!"

The Saarebas gurgled something else and visibly calmed down, assuming his already familiar indifferent stance. Anders put out the remaining fires with his magic, and they finally walked out, blackened with smoke and stinking of sewers. But, at least, now there was clear sky above them and fresh salty air to breathe.

And Qunari. A whole lot of them.

"Give us the Saarebas," one of them demanded. Hawke couldn't really tell who – they all looked alike to her.

"Uh… no?" she looked briefly at her companions. Anders appeared to be ready to fight till the end against oppression of mages, which was no surprise. Fenris looked mildly disapproving, which was also normal.

"His karataam were destroyed and he lost his Arwaarad. I do not know how you came to hold his leash, bas, but the trail leads here. To you," the Qunari didn't seem too impressed with her epic rebuttal.

"She set us up!" Anders exclaimed in disbelief.

"Since when did you start believing the Chantry?" Hawke asked him wryly.

"Noted, but to set a trap like that? What for?"

"Give us the Saarebas!" the Qunari demanded again, not pleased by the lack of attention they paid him.

"What will happen to him?" Anders asked.

"He lost his lead. The risk of corruption is too great."

"So you'll just kill him? Miriam, we can't let him…" he turned back to Hawke.

"Fenris, any insight?" she turned hopefully to the elf. The Qunari that spoke to them appeared rather irritated now, in that cold dangerous manner his people had.

"Whatever you choose to do, it will make no difference," Fenris simply shrugged.

"Very helpful, as always…" the healer rolled his eyes. "We won't give him to you!"

"Very well," the Qunari concluded, taking a rod from his belt. He waved it at the Saarebas, and the mage suddenly fell to his knees, contained by some sort of energy. Hawke's heart sank. She was rather counting on the same display of magic the Saarebas showed in the sewers. But now it was just three of them.

Still, the three of them weren't so bad, were they? The Gray Wardens conscripted only the best, and being possessed by a spirit didn't weaken Anders either. And Fenris… Seeing him fighting, Miriam couldn't help remembering his tale. _'I killed them all'_. How many Qunari were there in the Fog Warriors? He was a ghost on the battlefield, invulnerable, quick and deadly. The thought of untapped power only a fracture of which he used was frightening. And still, as she ducked under an axe to appear behind a Qunari and deal a blow of her own, an image of him fighting ferociously with a pencil tucked behind his ear appeared in her mind.

It was over. Not really soon, and not very clean, but it was. Hawke kneeled tiredly, nursing bruised ribs.

"Miriam!" Anders was at her side instantly, checking for injuries.

"I'm fine," she gasped. "Help the Saarebas!"

He noticed the Qunari then, still struggling with the magic that contained him. The Saarebas seemed to be in pain and was gurgling something, pointing at the rod that bound him. Anders picked up the rod and twisted it in his hands, trying to figure out what to do with it, until suddenly it shot a ray of energy at the Saarebas. The healer dropped the rod immediately, reflexively trying to pretend that it wasn't him.

The Qunari rose to his feet slowly, his giant frame casting shadow over Hawke. Feeling that she was expected to behave like the lead he took her for, Miriam stood up, wincing. At her height she barely reached the Qunari's sternum, and yet, somehow, this giant powerful creature obeyed her commands. It was incomprehensible. But, then again, weren't all Qunari?

"I am… unbound. Strange. Wrong," the Saarebas seemed to listen to the sound of his own voice with disbelief. He turned to Anders. "I thank your intent, basra, even if it was wrong."

"What do you mean, wrong? You are free now!" the healer insisted.

"I have no lead."

"That's what it means."

"No," he turned back to Hawke. "You led well, Basvaarad. Now I must return to the Qun."

"You just want to die?" Miriam asked incredulously.

"I do not wish to die. I wish to live by the Qun."

"Which means to die," Anders cut in, looking as if he didn't quite believe that this situation was real.

"Yes," one movement, and the Qunari was engulfed in flames. He went down quietly, without as much as a whimper of pain. They were silent for a long time after that, staring at the ashes.

"Would he live if we surrendered him to those Qunari?" Miriam finally asked Fenris. The elf contemplated his answer for a few seconds.

"No," he finally said. "They would kill him, and then us, for the risk of being tainted by him. That is why I said that your decision would change nothing."

"You could stand to say something earlier, don't you think?" Anders shot him an annoyed glance, still shaken.

"Would you have done anything different?"

"No… I guess not," the mage agreed reluctantly. "Let's go. I think we need to have a word with sister Petrice."


	10. Hunters

Hawke swore quietly and peered over the edge of the roof. How did they end up here? It was supposed to be just another errand for the good of the city. Spy on some corrupt guards, find the missing Qunari delegates… That this madness was beginning to feel normal was probably a bad sign, but yet again the Maker, or maybe Fen'Harel decided, that her life should never fall into routine, and the tables were turned. This morning they were hunters, now they became the hunted.

"Thank you, Maker," she muttered and turned to her companions. Fenris was sulking. Not that she would dare to tell that to his face, but he was, most likely because they practically had to drag him away from the fight. The elf hated running, even when hopelessly outnumbered. Miriam, on the other hand, liked running just fine. Running generally meant that you still had all your limbs attached.

"They might as well try to take over the city, while they're at it," Aveline said quietly, after another group of hunters passed under them. Miriam was not about to ask the Guard-Captain why slavers were able to roam the city in such numbers, she still valued her life.

"Someone out there is really scared of you," Varric smirked at the elf, probably not sharing Hawke's love for life at this moment. Fenris glowered.

"As they should be," he said, and his markings flared for a moment, betraying his anger.

"Right," Miriam agreed carefully. "I say we snatch one alive, fast and clean, and ask a few questions."

"Or we could get to the barracks and alert the guards," Aveline countered with mild disapproval. Hawke had the decency to fake shame.

"Alright, you and Varric go to the barracks, they're not hunting you, after all. Fenris and I will get some information," she looked down on the street again. "Seems to be clear. Be careful."

They watched the not-so-graceful dissent of the plate-armor-wearing Captain and the dwarf. Hawke turned to her elven companion with a smirk, but sarcastic comment died on her lips. There were times in their misadventures, when kind and gentle Anders was overcome with Vengeance. And now there was that same look of frightening determination on Fenris's face, the look that suggested that no one, not even Hawke, should stand on his way to retribution. He pointed with his chin at yet another group that was approaching their hiding place, and she silently nodded her agreement, readying the throwing knife.

The first hunter was struck down once the group was under them. Arrows pierced the air above Hawke as she fell down onto the roof. They soon stopped, however, replaced by screams, and she risked a glance over the edge. The silvery blur that she knew was Fenris burst into the midst of the hunters, tearing and slashing. She rarely saw him like this - normally the elf relied mostly on his skill with the sword. By the time she got down, it was mostly over, the most intelligent of hunters trying to slip away from the raging elf. Hawke's knife stopped one, but the other was unlucky enough to be noticed by Fenris. The elf, still glowing, but no longer silvery ghost, caught the man by his throat, lifting him off the ground and squeezing with a grim smile on his face.

"Fenris! We need him alive!" Hawke called to him, making a step closer, but still debating with herself on the wisdom of interfering with the elf in this mood. He was too much like Anders. _Glowing men are trouble._

"Where is he?" the elf growled, making even her shiver, but relaxed his grip slightly, allowing the hunter to take a strained breath.

"I... don't… know!" the man whispered hoarsely, but this answer only resulted in Fenris shaking him. "I swear! Hadriana… brought us! She's… in the holding caves! I can take you there!"

"No need," Fenris drawled and crushed the slaver's throat.

Miriam watched with wide eyes as he threw the body away. His complete disregard for the lives of his enemies wasn't at all surprising, and Hawke has had her share of killing, but it was always in battle, except… that one time…

"Hadriana," Fenris said with such intense hatred dripping off every syllable, that Hawke's legs made a step back of their own volition. Her movement drew the elf's attention, and he turned quickly, looking at her with hate meant for another.

"We need to leave, there will be more of them," she said urgently, trying to return him to reality. The elf blinked, and his emotions seemed to subside along with the glow of his markings.

"We need to get to the holding caves," he insisted, as if daring her to disagree.

"We will," she made a step towards him. "But we need to get the others first."

"She will get away!" Fenris growled.

"Remember, when you stopped me from running after my mother's kidnapper?" Miriam almost moved to touch him calmingly, but thought better of it. "I would be dead if I walked into that trap alone. Now it's my turn to play the common sense, don't you think?"

"Alright," he agreed after a long moment of silence.

The holding caves were everything one could expect: a cold, dark, _hopeless_ place. Fire seemed to serve only to emphasize the darkness, its dreary gleam dancing on the rusted chains. Sometimes screams could be heard somewhere in the distance, but they were yet to encounter anyone except slave hunters.

"They used to keep people here?" Merrill shivered. "This is… awful!"

"They still do, it seems," Hawke answered grimly, sparing a glance to a body on a table. She had a hard time keeping up with determined Fenris, but couldn't shake the feeling that the body was not only lifeless, but also… bloodless.

"Not if we can help it," Aveline walked with her sword ready. "Slavers in my city? I'm putting a stop to it."

"Good to be a friend of the Guard-Captain," Miriam smirked, but no one seemed inclined to share her mirth in this place.

"I'm not just doing it for friendship, Hawke," Aveline said solemnly.

The screams were getting closer, this time distinctly female. Sounds led them to an empty hall. On the opposite side a group of slavers tried to drag an elven girl somewhere, the girl putting up surprising resistance, begging them to stop. That was enough for Fenris to lunge at the slavers, others following suit. Only after the hunters were dispatched did Hawke get a chance to take a proper look at the girl. It was the first 'real' slave she'd ever seen, and what she saw made her understand and even share Fenris's hatred somewhat. Being an elf, the girl was bound to be lean, but she took it to a whole other level. There was nothing but skin and bones and giant eyes looking up at them with fearful expectation.

"Are you alright?" Fenris asked almost softly, visible trying to contain his anger.

The girl blinked, giant green eyes catching light like cat's. She took in Fenris's unusual appearance, his scowl and firmly set jaw, the way he stood ahead of others… and made a conclusion.

"Are you my master now?"

"No!" Fenris flinched back as if burned, shock on his face.

"But…" Fear intensified. Hawke watched in horrified fascination as girl looked from one face to another, hoping that someone would take freedom from her. _He ordered me to kill them… so I did._ The words pounded in her head. It seemed surreal. Was this the reason slavery still existed? This strange need to obey a master, this fear of making your own decisions?

"What happened here? Where were they taking you, kitten?" Varric stepped forward, speaking in his warm, soothing voice.

"They've been killing everyone!" the slave girl looked around frantically, but calmed somewhat when she saw no more slavers. "Th-they bled papa…"

"Shh, it's alright, you're safe now, da'len," Merrill joined in, hugging the girl. The Dalish's eyes were suspiciously bright when she whispered. "These poor people… it's blood magic, someone is gathering power."

"Y-yes, mistress said someone was coming to kill her," the girl said.

Fenris nodded grimly.

"Please don't do this!" the girl begged. This was the last straw. Hawke threw her arms up and stepped in front of her, barely containing the desire to shake the elf.

"How can you protect her? She killed your father, and other slaves! You know why? Because you're just property to her, nothing more!"

The girl shrank, hiding in Merrill's arms. Hawke sighed, shaking her head ruefully. She didn't mean to flip out like that. Maybe Fenris was rubbing off on her.

"Where is Hadriana?" Fenris asked.

"D-down the corridor," the girl obediently pointed at the door. "But she will be so angry…"

"We're angrier," Hawke promised, still fuming, and nodded for the others to follow.

"We can't just leave her here, Hawke!" Aveline's voice caught up with her. Miriam stopped. She was angry. At the world, at this Hadriana she's never met before, but most of all at this pathetic girl.

"I'm sure my clan would take her," Merrill offered.

"What do you say, kitten, want to become a proud Dalish, like Daisy here?" Varric smiled.

"What do I… want?" the girl asked, her eyes becoming impossibly large.

"Sure, it's your choice," the dwarf assured her.

"I…" she looked at smiling Merrill. Hawke still stood with her back to them, but she could've sworn she heard creaking of wheels turning in the slave's head. "Yes?"

"Then go hide for now, and we'll get you to them once we're done here, alright?" Merrill patted her cheek. The girl nodded excitedly and ran off.

There was a door in the end of the corridor. Everything seemed eerily quiet on the other side of it. Merrill stopped them halfway, a look of concentration on her face.

"It's a trap," she whispered and raised her hand. "I can feel it… Do not approach the door."

The slight motion of the elf's hand flung the door open, and the blast that followed destroyed it completely, magic making Miriam's hair stand, but at this distance not causing any other damage. There was a moment of shocked silence, and then magic hell that made this blast seem like a child's play broke loose. Hawke hated fighting blood mages. What could she do with creatures they summoned, made of shadow itself? The dead, at least, she could immobilize, but they were flesh… and so was the mage. But in silent agreement none of them approached Hadriana, letting Fenris take care of her. And so he did, with feral grin on his face.

Suddenly, it was quiet again. The mage's concentration faltered, releasing the otherworldly creatures bound to his will. Breathing heavily, Hawke turned to where Fenris stood over the fallen magister, raising his sword for the final blow.

"Wait! You need me alive!" Hadriana called for him, raising her hand as if to shield herself from the imminent blow.

"Why, so you could lead me to Danarius?" the elf sneered. "I'd rather lose him his pet pupil!"

"You have a sister! I could tell you where she is if you spare me!" the mage talked quickly. Hawke could hardly blame her - there was always a chance that if you talked for long enough to your killer, he wouldn't find it in himself to finish you off in cold blood. Or maybe you'd gather enough strength to strike him down. Fenris, however, didn't seem to be aware of that possibility. He gaped at the mage in obvious shock.

"Do I have your word?" the mage urged, and her eyes flicked to the staff that was just out of reach. Miriam narrowed her eyes.

"Yes," Fenris hanged his sword behind his back and bended so that their faces were on the same level. "You have my word."

"Her name is Varania. She serves a magister named Ahriman, as a tailor," Hadriana said quickly, looking into the elf's eyes. But what Hawke saw was the mage's hand carefully edging towards a blade left on the floor. She really, really hated fighting blood mages.

Before she could cut her hand, however, there was a flash of lyrium, and with a startled gurgle the mage was dead. Fenris withdrew his hand from Hadriana's chest and slowly rose.

"We are done here," he said with carefully leveled voice.

"Elf, do you…" started Varric.

"Fenris…" at the same time Merrill tried to touch his arm.

"Don't touch me," he flinched away from the elven mage, his hatred spilling out. "You are just like her!"

"Maybe we should just leave," Hawke tried. If Fenris attacked Merrill, she really didn't know what she'd do. "You'll feel better, once..."

"No, I won't!" he snapped, turning to her. "Don't you see what was done here? There will always be some excuse for mages to do this! And this 'sister'! It's just another trap, nothing more than that empty chest! Maybe Danarius sent her to tell me this!"

"We could check the…"

"What good will that do? Even if I found her, who knows what Danarius did to her? What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?" he spat out, and Miriam flinched. He stood there for a few seconds, looking at her with widened eyes, the meaning of his words slowly sinking in. "I… need to be alone." And he was gone.


	11. Walls

A/n: I hate writing these scenes. Really, I do. No matter what you do, they always dissent into clichés and it's so damn easy to slip out of character…

* * *

Hawke leaned against a wall and rubbed her face tiredly. Despite his unique appearance, the elf could easily disappear when he wanted to. And right now he definitely didn't want to be found. Not by a _mage_ like her, anyway. Still, she had to at least try… there could still be some slavers who managed to avoid the guard and didn't know about their employer's death.

Yes, that was the reason she dropped everything and ran after him. Not because she wanted to beat the crap out of the elf. Aveline and her guards could handle looking for the Qunari. Varric and the others would be there too, to ensure that their group was commended for their efforts. It was a sound plan._ So long as we're professional about it, then._

She couldn't believe the arrogant bastard. There they were, mages who just saved his life and freedom. They wouldn't even get further than the door without Merrill, and Fenris still treated her like a monster. Not to mention Hawke herself, who… _Ah, but what the use._

Miriam pushed herself from the wall, turned around and briefly considered kicking it. It would probably feel the same as kicking the elf, except the wall wouldn't kick you back. Still, it wasn't the wall's fault. There was nothing for it but to return home.

So she walked back, contemplating the possible ways to kill _that elf_. The street, the stairs, the door… Fenris, pacing in front of the fireplace. He stopped when she entered, looking at her searchingly.

"You're alone?" she asked nonchalantly, taking off her gloves and throwing them on the table. "Of course you are. You don't need an army of templars to apprehend one apostate."

"What are you-" whatever he was expecting her to say, that clearly wasn't it.

"If you intend to tear my heart out, please don't do it on the carpet. Bodahn gets this really pointed look when I leave dirt from the street on it," her jacket followed the gloves and Hawke started on her street boots, staying off the carpet.

"I'm not…"

"Hey, there's an idea, maybe we should be drowned as infants? Would make things a lot easier, wouldn't it?" Hawke went to the mirror, ignoring the elf.

"Hawke-"

"Of course, that would make the non-magic folk look bad, killing innocent children and all, but hey, at least we evil monsters won't be there to inconvenience you."

"Listen to me!" Suddenly the room blurred and Hawke winced as the air was knocked out of her. Fenris pushed her into the wall, holding her arms. The claws of his gauntlets pressed painfully into her skin, but in all honesty that wasn't the reason her eyes burned. His words back in the caves hurt, and she wanted hers to hurt just as badly, but now the wall of anger she constructed crumbled, baring the pain behind. It wasn't just about him. It was about all her life and all her struggles to be accepted. But it was he who showed her that, no matter how hard she tried, she'd never be. Miriam tilted her head back and closed her eyes, shutting out both the glow of his markings and his furious green eyes. A tear broke loose.

Hawke felt the pressure on her arms disappear and could finally raise a hand to hastily wipe off the tear. She could still feel Fenris standing close, no longer holding her, but not moving away. She dared to open her eyes then, embarrassed and angry at herself for this display of weakness. Last time she cried was…

The former slave was looking at her with wide eyes and appropriately ashamed and shocked expression. The green eyes flickered from her face to fresh bruises on her arms and he winced.

"It's alright," she shrugged tiredly, at that moment wanting only to be left alone.

"No, it's not," he countered. "I didn't come here for this."

"You prepared a little apologetic speech, I suppose?" this elicited a faint smirk from him. "Let me spare you some time. What happened there was obviously difficult for you, and made you say things you probably didn't mean to say aloud. And me… I like pretending that I'm not a mage, but wishing that doesn't make it so. I can't guarantee that I won't explode again like I did with that mage. So…"

"Stubborn," Fenris growled, his hand pushing into the wall next to her head. Hawke closed her eyes briefly. "Will you listen to me?"

"I am listening," her gaze wandered about the room.

"That's not conventionally done with one's mouth, I think," he exhaled slowly. "What happened today, I had to do it. I hated Hadriana. But you… I never wanted to hurt _you_. What I said there was untrue; there is at least one wonderful thing in this world touched by magic," a clawed hand gingerly raised her chin, careful not to hurt. Miriam was forced to look up into his eyes full with emotion. Fear and longing swirled in the green, but breaking through them was a kind of sad tenderness she never expected to see there. Her own eyes widened as he continued in a quiet husky voice. "And that makes it all the more frightening to lose it."

Somewhere on the far reaches of her mind she registered that he was very close now, so close that his eyes now filled her entire field of vision. And yet he was very still, not trying to cross what little distance remained between them and not stepping away. He just looked at her with those intent eyes, waiting.

She kissed him.

What happened next was the dam breaking. Hawke was pushed into the wall again while he kissed her hungrily, clawed hands finding their way down her sides to grasp her, bruising, raising her up. She didn't mind this time, all rational thought dissipating in the heat of his touch. All that remained was their desire, the shared need to finally touch and be touched, to not be alone anymore.

The world started to seep back through bliss with the cold sheets and emptiness that felt intuitively _wrong_. Opening her eyes did not seem an option yet, however. She outstretched her hands, running them over the mess of a bed. Nothing.

"Andraste, don't let me have dreamt that," she groaned and sat up, rubbing her face. Something that sounded like a chuckle reached her ears, but it didn't seem humorous somehow. She opened her eyes and saw Fenris standing near the fireplace, staring into the flames. Paranoia nudged at the back of her brain. "Surely Bodahn's cooking is not so bad that you won't even stay for breakfast?"

"Hawke…" the elf turned to her and the pained expression on his face made it clear that this wasn't going to be just one of those awkward morning talks. Hawke… There were many names he called her that night, many of them in Tevinter, but her family name wasn't among them.

"You're leaving," she stated incredulously.

"I… began to remember," he said with difficulty. "My life before, I could remember it all in one moment, and then… nothing."

"Isn't it a good thing?" she furrowed her brows, looking up at him.

"No, it's not a good thing!" Fenris snapped, but then winced and continued in a slightly less agitated if still very pained voice. "You know I never remembered anything from before, and to get it all back only to lose it… and lose it every night…" he looked at her, his eyes silently begging. "I can't."

"How do you know you'll lose it again? If it's a sign that your memory started to heal, you might regain it all in time!" she stopped, sudden suspicion hitting her. "That's what you are afraid of, isn't it? For all that talk about stopping and facing the tiger, you are too afraid to stop running!"

She expected him to argue, to get angry with her… She hoped for it. But Fenris simply turned away and started walking, his head hung low. The last thing she heard from him was "Forgive me" spoken in a quiet broken voice.

Hawke fell back onto the sheets and lay there, staring into the ceiling. She felt strangely numb, still finding it hard to believe in the reality of what had happened in the last hours. She heard the front door close and shut her eyes, hoping she could just pretend that nothing had ever happened.


	12. At the Hanged Man

A/n: can't describe how good it feels to receive such positive reviews after a difficult chapter :) Thank you all!

* * *

Miriam peered into her tankard, frowning thoughtfully in an attempt to draw some palatable analogy with the ale's color. The attempt at associating it with anything other than byproducts usually found in the dark corner behind a tavern failed miserably, but she didn't really care at that point. The view of beaten up and bound Qunari, that templar slitting his throat… well, that was wrong, that's what it was. And she was late yet again, her own throwing knife plunging into the templar's throat a second after. Hawke snorted into her drink. At this rate she'd probably be late for her own funeral. Which wasn't such a bad thing, but…

"I pointed Bianca at them and said… Come on, Raven, this tankard is as big as you are, and it's your third," Varric realized she wasn't listening and tried to pry the tankard out of her hands, but Hawke clutched it like her life depended on it.

"Thas a strange thing to say to an army of abominations," she wondered, looking at the dwarf with slightly blurry eyes.

"Let her drink, I want to see how many will it take for her to fall over," Isabela sprawled on a seat across the table, leaning on Anders with a tankard in her hand, looking at Hawke with scientist's curiosity.

"'s magic," Miriam shook her head and straightened indignantly. "No falling over."

"Don't you come crawling to me tomorrow, o magic drunkard," the mage wagged his finger at her, and she found herself suddenly fascinated by it. Anders had long and slender fingers, not unlike her father. And, like her father's, the harsh life of an apostate left its mark on his hands, coarsened with hard work, stained from mixing potions. The mage frowned, moving his finger as her eyes followed it. "I think she's had enough."

"Don't you want to have your way with her while she's drunk?" the pirate put her arm around Anders's shoulders, smirking. "I know I do."

Anders rolled his eyes. He was pitifully sober, nursing a glass of wine the whole evening, as usual. Hawke always thought it was because he was afraid to lose control of himself, but Varric's theory was that Justice forbade him to drink alcohol and stay up late.

"You jus' want to get in my pants," Miriam looked reproachfully at the pirate and sighed with all the sorrow in the world. "You don't care 'bout the person underneath."

"Underneath those pants?" Isabela gave her a smoldering look. Varric chuckled and leaned back for a better view at the scene. "Speaking of pants…"

"I don't know where Fenris is! Why do you keep pestering me?" Hawke said quickly.

Silence fell around the table, complete with raised eyebrows. Miriam clutched her tankard in both hands and slid lower on her chair, so that only her head and shoulders were above the table.

"Where _is_ the elf?" Varric finally asked. Hawke, suddenly devoid of her blissful drunken mist, could see him poised ready to jump at any saucy details he could find out. Not that it would make any difference if she kept her mouth shut, though. He'd just make something up. "He's our broody Qunari expert, after all. Qunari hunting without his trademark brooding is just no Qunari hunting."

"How should I know?" Hawke muttered testily from her hiding place. "He's a free man; he comes and goes as he pleases."

"Ohhh, they did the nasty!" Isabela exclaimed happily, releasing Anders to sit closer to Hawke and get a hold of her before she ran away. "Tell us all the juicy details! What was it like? Oh, I can imagine all that repressed passion behind the guarded exterior…"

"Isabela!" Anders interrupted her angrily.

"Jealous much?" the pirate smirked. "You could always come and cry on my bosom, Blondie. Justice, too. More people – more fun."

"I'm not—"

"My, that blush looks almost painful," Varric wondered, studying Hawke. Anders and Isabela looked down on her red face, stopping their argument.

"That's because she's smothering me," Miriam wheezed out and made an attempt to crawl up. "There's nothing between Fenris and me."

"Whoops, sorry," Isabela released the pressure slightly. "So can I have a go?"

"Knock yourself out," Hawke muttered, paying due attention to her tankard. She tried not to think about what happened between Fenris and her last night, and she certainly didn't want to talk about it. She wouldn't mind throwing knives at his picture pinned to the wall, though.

But once she was over the initial anger, she just didn't know what to think about it. Did she love him? She found him attractive, yes, and she liked spending time with him, whether it was scrambling through the Wounded Coast to root out one lair of villainy or another, teaching him to read, just talking over some expensive wine by the fireplace, or… well, spending the night together. She cared for him, yes, but she also cared for Varric, infuriating Isabela, Aveline and the others. Inviting them all into her bed wasn't exactly her lifelong dream. Perhaps that night was just something they both needed at that time, and maybe it was for the best that they weren't stuck with each other afterwards. She could almost convince herself. Still, was he going to disappear?

Hawke snapped back to reality with the whooshing of Isabela's hand in front of her face.

"Look at her, all lost in the memories. You simply must share them with us!" the pirate urged her again.

"Fine. We argued, and then he slammed me into the wall and took me right there," Hawke whispered dreamily, looking directly at Isabela.

"Really?" the pirate looked like a kid in a candy store.

"No," Hawke replied calmly and took a sip of her ale. Now if she could only have…

"Serah Hawke! Serah Hawke?"

…this.

Miriam waved to draw the attention of the Maker's gift that just walked in and was searching the crowd for her. Relief was evident on the young guard's face when he rushed to her. Her friends, on the other hand, didn't seem so happy.

"Is Aveline finally going to arrest me for hiding under her table? I keep telling her that was political refuge, but…"

"You hid under Aveline's table?" Varric cut in incredulously.

"Didn't know the old girl had it in her…" Isabela wondered.

"Long story," Hawke waved them off and turned her attention back to the man, now clearly uncomfortable. She smirked with satisfaction. Aveline was probably going to kill her later, but the look on her guard's face when they discussed his captain was totally worth it. Not to mention they were finally off the topic of her and Fenris. "So?"

"The captain said to uh… ask you to come to the Qunari compound at once… serrah," the guard said.

"Really? She said that?" Isabela raised an eyebrow.

"Judging by our friend's face it was probably something along the lines of dragging my sorry ass to the compound this instant," Hawke shrugged. "What did I do this time?"

"Maybe it's about the dead Qunari," Anders suggested quietly. Miriam groaned. Well, at least now everybody has definitely forgotten about Fenris.

"Too bad the elf is not here then," Varric said, crushing her hopes.

"Alright," she stood up, staggering slightly, and raised her arm like a general ordering her troops to charge. "To the Compound!"

Her march came to an abrupt end before it began, however. One moment she was standing with her arm raised, the other she saw the floor rapidly getting closer. She was just beginning to contemplate the curious shape of a taint on it when her fall was broken by Isabela. The pirate pulled her up and smirked at Anders who was soon at her other side.

"Can you wiggle your magic fingers and make her fit to meet the big horned guy?" she asked the healer.

"There is something I can do…" Anders answered thoughtfully.

"I hate you all," Hawke muttered as they walked to the Compound. Well, she hated Isabela most of all, because of the way the pirate laughed at her predicament and then refused to leave the tavern, saying she had no interest to be told off by Aveline yet again, but Anders came a very close second. And Varric was clearly too happy. Her hair still dripped water. It trickled down her back, making the armor highly uncomfortable. And it was _cold_.

"It worked, didn't it?" Anders smiled innocently.

She snorted indignantly. It did.


	13. The mist

A/n: this could be the last chapter in a while. Sorry, guys. Between the deadline at work and my vacation approaching I really don't have time to write until the end of May. I'll try to write one more chapter before leaving, though.

* * *

"Through the sewers again… Why don't we ever take, you know, a road or something?" Hawke complained while they were – for the second time that day, - hurriedly making their way through the sewers. "I mean, does anybody use these sewers for their original purpose?"

"Have you ever seen the Lowtown streets?" Varric scoffed, trying his best not to step into anything… at least anything relatively fresh. "Why do I keep letting you drag me into these questionable ventures of yours?"

"Because they are generally your ideas, because you enjoy them and because one day you're going to tell a story of our grand adventure and want to get as much information as you can," Miriam answered sweetly.

"Yes, well, when I'm telling the story, I'm going to omit this part," the dwarf looked around in the damp, smelly darkness. "Or maybe throw in a couple of dragons."

"Throw in hordes of thugs, smugglers and abominations we had to fight around every corner," Anders suggested. "Everyone will buy that."

"Keep walking," Aveline urged them.

Hawke sighed and pressed forward. After a year working for the smugglers she knew these sewers far better than she ever wanted. Sometimes it was the quickest and safest way to get anywhere in Kirkwall. It was also the only way back into the city from the part of the Wounded Coast they ended up on in their pursuit of Javaris. It was perhaps a bit too obvious that he was involved in theft of saar-qamek, they should've seen it from the start. Could've saved them the trip through the sewers.

"Do you think he was telling the truth?" Anders wondered, as if hearing her thoughts.

"I don't think he has the guts to actually steal from the Qunari. Or imagination to come up with that story about an elf that wanted to kill him," Hawke shrugged.

"It still doesn't help us much," Aveline said.

"Well, we do have her description," Miriam suggested helpfully. "Have your guards look for a…"

"'A middle-aged female elf' is not much of a description, Hawke, and that's paraphrasing what he said into something move civil. I don't fancy a raid on the Alienage…" the Guard-Captain sighed. "Maybe you could contact Athenril…?"

"You do realize that is going to cost us," Miriam reached for the ladder and gave it a shake to see if it was safe. "Alright, up we go."

"Lives are at stake, Hawke," Aveline insisted as they made their way through the Lowtown. "If that smuggler knows something…"

"Then you are willing to overlook some of her dealings in this city?" Miriam gave her friend a sidelong glance. "This, from the woman who exposed the previous Guard-Captain's corruption? Someone might use it against you in the future, you know."

"Can't you call in a favor or something?"

"Are you willing to risk that Athenril might just make a copy of that formula and sell it? Besides, we don't know that the elf stayed in the city. She can't seriously believe that she can sell it here, with the Qunari and the Guard after her."

"Or she'll lie low for a while and then we'll find ourselves neck deep in this… saar-qamek. I'd rather deal with it now."

"Captain!" a guard hurried to them, anxious and gasping for air. Hawke always wondered how they managed to run in that heavy armor. Obviously not very good, if this guard's breathing was any indication. "There's been… some poisonous mist. People just went mad or retched themselves to death! We surrounded the area, but there are still people trapped there, and the mist doesn't clear away!"

"I stand corrected," Hawke raised her hands. "Looks like our thief stayed in town."

"So she didn't steal it for selling," Varric concluded.

"Maybe it's a free sample. To get the word out, you know…" Anders suggested, but fell silent under Aveline's glare.

"Lead us there," the Guard-Captain ordered.

"Wait, you're going to just barge in and… do what?" Hawke grabbed her arm. "If you possess the secret of holding your breath for half an hour, than bestow upon us that sacred knowledge!"

"Ladies, red or pink?" Varric held two scarves in his arms. Miriam chucked, glancing at the perplexed trader who happened to set up his shop in this spot.

"Pink doesn't go with your boots, Varric," she commented, raising her eyebrow.

"I meant you," the dwarf foisted the pink scarf on her and gave the other one to Aveline. He and Anders already had scarves tied around their necks in a manner that made them look like some bizarre sort of highwaymen.

They noticed the right street from afar. The mist wasn't visible yet, but the crowd of gawkers held off by the guard was certainly a giveaway. The people of Lowtown were used to hardships, street gangs, runaway mages… and they wouldn't miss a street performance like this one for the world. It was their shared instinct to run away from danger and then stay to watch what happens to those who didn't. The guard seemed endlessly relieved to see Aveline.

"Captain!" he saluted and repeated the words of the guard that led them here. "What are we going to do, captain? We can't fight the air!"

"Stay here and don't let anyone enter or leave," Aveline ordered steadily and motioned for Hawke and others to follow, covering the lower half of her face with a scarf as she went. They noticed it pretty soon, the sickly-green mist clinging to the ground, not rising higher than the first storey, but that was quite enough for anyone in the street to take a few good lungfuls.

Hawke adjusted her ridiculous pink scarf while looking around. The mist made her eyes water, but even if it didn't she wouldn't be able to see much. She nearly fell, stumbling over a sill warm body.

"There has to be a source," came Aveline's voice, strained and muffled by the scarf. The Guard-Captain barely spared a glance at the body, concentrating on her task. "Hurry, we must find it while we can still breathe!"

The sound of their hurried steps bounced off the walls in eerie silence, making Miriam turn franticly in fear of an ambush. But there was no one alive except for them and perhaps some survivors on the higher floors. Soon, as they followed the mist to where it was the thickest, a faint hissing sound joined the echo of their steps. Hawke really wished Fenris was there with his elven ears… and other things. She took another shallow breath, closing her eyes to try and get some sense of direction.

"Got it!" Varric exclaimed triumphantly. The dwarf was pointing at a small barrel, barely visible behind a dense boiling cloud that enveloped it. They rushed to it, looking for a way to close the barrel. Sadly, in their hurry they didn't notice silent shadows that slipped into the mist from the second floor windows of the nearby house. Not until they were surrounded.

"Uh… I think we found survivors," Anders commented thoughtfully, touching Hawke's shoulder to draw her away from searching for the lid. Drawn weapons glinted in the mist.

"Not for long," Varric loaded Bianca.

"We'll hold them off, close the barrel!" Aveline pushed the lid into Hawke's hands and drew her sword.

Trying not to breathe, Miriam crept closer to the barrel and put the lid on it, holding on to it for a second to stop her head from spinning. Once she let go, however, the lid danced from the pressure, still letting out bursts of smoke. Hawke swore and ducked as something swooshed past her ear. It seemed the unknown attackers were quite bent on stopping her, but her friends were just as bent on not letting anyone close. She returned her attention to the barrel. There were other barrels and crates near it, probably the reason this place was chosen as the least suspicious. Hawke picked up one of the crates with a grunt.

"Close the barrel!" she muttered, hunching closer to the ground and clutching the heavy crate as the fight went on around her ears. "Since when am I the muscle here?"

Finally the crate was put on the barrel and she examined her handiwork contentedly. No more smoke was coming out to feed the mist.

"No!" someone cried out and their attackers were joined by reinforcements. Hawke swore and drew her daggers. The elf that led them looked at her furiously. Unlike others, her face was uncovered – foolish, but, judging by the fire in her eyes, such trivial things were pretty low on the list of her concerns. "You are… serah Hawke? And Guard-Captain? Good! You are just what we need! Not these poor people…"

"You are mad," Miriam concluded and shook her head. She was sick of her vision blurring, her head spinning, her heart pounding… they needed to get out of this mist as soon as possible. But it seemed they could only do it with a fight.

"I am saving my people! Once everyone sees what the Qunari did here, we will loose no more elves to them!" the elf snapped. "I just need a few more bodies… upstanding citizens like you, killed by the Qunari…" she smiled and signaled her men to attack.

It was difficult enough to fight surrounded by poisonous mist, trying not to breathe deeply. Hawke had no patience for that; she needed to get out, so she hacked and slashed at the attackers relentlessly, with one purpose to finish the fight as soon as possible, weakening her defenses against both the mist and the fighters in favor of offence. Until she stumbled on someone with brains who used that to get close enough to rip the scarf off her.

The sickening stench attacked her senses, and Miriam nearly passed out from the first surprised breath she took. What she experienced before was nothing compared to the way her vision blurred now, shiny outlines appearing around the edges… she even thought she saw the familiar lyrium ghost dancing among the fighters. Her head felt incredibly heavy, pulse pounding in her ears louder than the sounds of battle. It seemed impossible to raise her leaden arms, but she wriggled and kicked furiously when someone scooped her up. She could only make out just another blurry face half-covered by a dark scarf, one of that elf's men, probably.

Despite all her efforts, the man clutched her securely to his breastplate and quickly carried away from the battle and up the stairs. There, above the worst of the mist, he carefully laid her down.

"Stay here," a familiar deep voice ordered, and he was gone.

The air was delightfully fresh compared to the Abyss beneath her, and Hawke breathed greedily, trying to fight off the nausea. Her head cleared gradually, until she could finally look around. The mist below was already dissipating, but the fighting still continued. She could make out the fighters, but didn't trust her shaking hands with a throwing knife.

Then she saw him among them. The lyrium ghost.


	14. Murder in the Chantry

It was difficult to pinpoint the moment when it all started falling apart. People always feared that which was different, and in Kirkwall there were too many people, even after the Blight was ended and most of the Fereldans – those who could afford it, anyway, - have returned home. Kirkwallers and Fereldans, humans, Qunari, elves, mages, templars, rich, poor – there was a wide variety to choose an object of your fear and hate from. Kirkwall, the city of endless possibilities where anyone can find an object of their personal holy crusade. Although lately, it seemed, most people chose to focus on damn Qunari.

"Well, we have that sleazy sister Petrice to thank for that," Anders scoffed while they were making their way through the docks.

"And without her everyone would get along, I'm sure. Townsfolk would dance and put garlands on Qunari's horns," Hawke snorted.

"Exactly! And the Viscount's boy is probably enjoying a drink with some Qunari courtesans right now," the mage nodded energetically.

"There aren't any Qunari courtesans," Fenris's voice came from behind them. Hawke closed her eyes briefly. That was probably the first thing the elf said that day. Maker knows she tried acting like nothing happened, if only to avoid all those knowing glances from the rest of their little gang, but Fenris took the concept of acting like nothing happened a bit too far. Right back to the moment they first met, it seemed. Neither of them wanted to talk about it and both developed an impressive ability to simultaneously burn holes with their deadly glares in anyone careless enough to mention their shared bad mood.

"Be as it may, soon one little push will be enough to plunge this city into chaos, and I will not have it," Aveline stated grimly.

"Very poetic. Mind if I use that?" Varric asked innocently and immediately raised his hands to ward off the Guard-Captain's murderous glare. There was a series of short stories gaining popularity in Lowtown – among those denizens who could read, anyway, - about an honorable and beautiful guardswoman Avalis Vale in her quest to bring order and peace to the streets of Kirkwall and find her true love. The search for true love went by rather empiric, trial and error way. In fact, Hawke was pretty sure Isabela co-authored those parts of the story, if the increased number of occasions she'd found the dwarf and the pirate together was any indication. Technically, however, there was no direct link between the characters in the story and real people. Varric was quite careful in that. It would be interesting to see just how long Aveline would allow this to continue before she finally snapped and Hawke's little circus became one dwarven merchant prince short.

It was a wonder how their little gang managed to work so well together despite all the differences. At times Miriam thought they all should've killed each other months ago. Anders and Fenris were constantly at each other's throats. Aveline was trying to get Varric and Isabela to somehow become upstanding and serious citizens, Isabela and Varric were purposefully infuriating her with their stunts in return (always original and fascinating to watch), Fenris constantly watched clueless Merrill for any signs of her becoming an abomination, Hawke wasn't talking to Fenris, Fenris wasn't talking to Hawke… The constant bickering among them became such a normal background noise that Hawke paused for a moment when they finally approached the gates to the Qunari compound and everyone fell silent.

The grey horned giants regarded them with silent solemn menace as they passed. If there was a race that never engaged in idle chatter and bickering, it was the Qunari. Hawke wondered briefly how one of them would act if forced to spend some time in her company. Had that Saarebas survived and joined them, perhaps… Would they drive that unfortunate Qunari insane?

"Serah Hawke," Arishok rumbled from his makeshift throne. As if the Qunari's impressive height was not enough to look down upon the wretched bas, he also had to sit at the top of a flight of stairs, regal and ceremonial. Hawke had to admit, in terms of projecting commanding presence the 'barbaric' Arishok could easily give the Viscount a run for his money. Which he did, apparently, judging by the steady stream of people converting to the Qun.

"Arishok," Hawke inclined her head slightly in greeting. It was somewhat new to a village girl from Lothering, meeting a head of foreign nation's army on behalf of the city's ruler. The Viscount definitely didn't look very happy sending some dirty Lowtown refugee to 'save' his son, but it wasn't like she was going to provoke Qunari into open war. Not intentionally, anyway. She felt someone's eyes on her and looked to her right, catching Fenris's thoughtful gaze that drifted from her to Arishok and back, as if comparing the two. Perhaps the elf was thinking along the same lines. "We came to speak with Saemus."

"Viddathari is beyond your reach," Arishok sat back, unimpressed. "Like many bas, he has chosen certainty of the Qun to your… chaos." It was difficult to miss disgust that last word dripped with. "Your people seek purpose, clarity. They come to us willingly and we accept them."

"I think I'd like to talk to him all the same," Hawke said stubbornly. Arguing with Qunari was about as effective as banging one's head against the wall: the right decision if the original goal was to beat said head into a bloody pulp, but downright counterproductive if your intent was to break through the wall. Still, she couldn't just return to the Viscount and say 'well, I asked him and he refused.' That tended to set a very bad precedent for someone trying to prove that they can get the job done.

The Qunari was silent for a moment, just looking at her. Then he said simply "No." She hated when he did that, mostly because there was no good answer she could come up with.

"Why?" she asked anyway, making a good mental swing with her head at the proverbial wall.

"He is gone," Arishok deigned to elaborate.

"Gone where?" Hawke asked patiently, making a mental note that Qunari seemed to answer precisely the question asked. It seemed extremely unlikely that they just happened to miss him on their way here. But it was also unlikely that Arishok lied. Somehow when you looked at the Qunari you just couldn't imagine them utter a lie. Say something vague and misleading – easily, but not lie.

"He went to your Chantry to talk to his father."

Hawke turned to her friends, alarm on her face mirroring their own. They came here as soon as the Viscount summoned them, there was no way he'd send them if he knew about the meeting. And that the meeting was to take place in the Chantry…

"Sister Petrice," Anders muttered with almost as much loathing as he put in Knight-Commander Meredith's name. Hawke shook her head ruefully. She didn't know much about the Viscount's more religious side, and Saemus's defection into the Qunari ranks pretty much meant abandoning the Maker. It seemed illogical to her for either to make the Chantry their meeting place. So why would the boy run all the way to Hightown just like that?

And why would Qunari just let him go? Although, looking at Arishok's solemn face she wasn't that surprised at the last part. Nobody forced Saemus to come here. The boy was probably spoiled, naïve, lonely, or whatever was fashionable to plague noble youth these days, but he came willingly.

"Perhaps the message came for his father after we left," Aveline said, sounding unconvinced. "We need to go to the Chantry anyway."

"And fast," Hawke intoned, hating to be late again. It was becoming a rather bad habit. After a quick nod to Arishok she turned around and started walking, but the Qunari leader's unhurried voice stopped her.

"Serah Hawke," he said. "Viddathari is one of us. If he is harmed, we will retaliate."

"Maybe you shouldn't have let him walk into an obvious trap to begin with, then?" she muttered over her shoulder and shook her head at Fenris's warning glance. Only once they were safely out of the Qunari compound did she turn to the elf. "Explain what's happening."

"Arishok has been forced to remain in this city for too long," Fenris said thoughtfully while walking next to her. The elf's eyes were trained straight ahead. "The very concept of it is repulsive to the Qunari. But he will not act unless the Qun demands it."

"And what will it take for the Qun to demand it?" Aveline asked walking irritably on the elf's other side, the Guard-Captain's armor clanking with every step.

"I cannot say," the elf said after a slight pause. "Arishok has been very patient so far. The harm to one Viddathari is unlikely to set him off, but he is watching. Maybe it will be one of those small things that, once accumulated, will be enough for him. Maybe it will take something much worse than that."

"But in the end the conflict is inevitable," Hawke stated, looking at him questionably.

"Yes," Fenris confirmed simply.

"Just what I need," Aveline groaned. "Why won't they just leave? After all this time, they could just build a new ship."

"Good question. Ask him that," Miriam offered innocently.

The Chantry was eerily silent, or perhaps it was their own grim expectations that made the usual solemn silence seem ominous. The shadows born from the many flickering candles danced on the walls around them like hidden enemies biding their time. For some, it was the place to find peace. Miriam never came to the Chantry. It was a dark and stuffy place, a symbol of oppression dedicated to a dead god, or maybe just an indifferent one.

A repentant figure was kneeling in front of the statue of Andraste, his head hung low. He reacted neither to the sound of their footsteps as they approached, nor to Hawke's voice that resounded under the chantry's high ceiling "Saemus?" She made to cross the last few steps that separated them and touch the boy, but was stopped by Fenris's hand gripping her shoulder tightly. The elf's nostrils flared.

"I _know_ that it's a trap," Miriam rolled her eyes and shook his hand off.

"Will you look at all this blood," Varric wondered quietly approaching Saemus from the side. The boy's once expensive-looking clothing was soaked in dark liquid that flowed from the deep cut across his neck. Empty eyes stared at Andraste's feet.

"A murder in the chantry," female voice reprimanded them with the satisfaction of a cat that just ate a canary with cream. The group turned around to face sister Petrice, none of them surprised, but still horrified at the calculating ease with which a sister of the Chantry murdered an innocent boy. "A prodigal son returning to the Chantry from his Qunari capturers, killed by Qunari sympathizers at the very feet of the Maker's bride."

Behind her were people – normal people that went about their ordinary lives, working hard, raising their children to respect their elders and revere their Maker, gossiping with the neighbors over ale, - those people now stared at them with murder in their eyes.

"Arishok is watching, you say?" Miriam said quietly to Fenris. The elf nodded. She watched the sister retreat behind her followers and a decision was forming in her mind. "Don't kill the peasants, just knock them out. Leave Petrice. I believe she's someone else's prey now."

The battle, if it could even be called that, was a short one. Peasants with their mostly makeshift weapons were no match for Hawke's group. Petrice couldn't have thought Hwake and her friends could be defeated so easily. No, she wanted her followers killed, here, in the Chantry. The Viscount's son's murder was spectacular enough to rile the city, but it was orchestrated. A murder in the Chantry sounded good, but massacre in the Chantry was even better, especially if this time it was true. Hawke would not give her that.

"What is this commotion?" the Grand Cleric's voice came from above, and the fight was immediately halted. Hawke looked up to see an elderly woman descending down a flight of stairs.

"Qunari zealots killed the Viscount's son and attacked the people who tried to stop them, Your Reverence!" Petrice called out immediately. The Grand Cleric's eyes calmly traveled through the scene, noting the unconscious if otherwise unharmed people on the floor before stopping at Hawke.

"That is not what I see here, Mother Petrice," she said, her eyes still boring into Miriam. Hawke stared back defiantly.

"The boy was killed in a plot to rile the city against the Qunari, Your Reverence," Aveline said, once again reminding Hawke how nice it was to count a Guard-Captain among your friends. "Sadly, we came too late to stop them."

"I see," the Grand Cleric said, her attention now on something behind Hawke.

"Your Reverence, surely you cannot put these heretics' word above—" Petrice started.

"I have my own eyes, Mother," the Grand Cleric nodded solemnly to someone and turned away, starting back up the stairs.

"Your Reverence…?" Petrice asked disbelievingly and for a moment turned to Hawke with question in her eyes, her aura of superiority and zealot's fire in her eyes all but gone, replaced by uncertainty and fear. But Hawke was looking at the towering figure that stepped out of the shadows. The Qunari reached for his bow and notched the arrow in complete silence. Nobody moved, it seemed nobody even breathed as the arrow was released into Petrice's chest.


	15. A very important book

"If it isn't my dear friend Raven!" Isabela exclaimed, waving her mug in greeting. The pirate was standing in her usual place by the bar: elbows on the table, back curved suggestively. This picture was burned into Hawke's brain by now regardless of her wishes. In fact, when Isabela wasn't there trading insults with the barkeep, the Hanged Man just seemed incomplete. "I was just thinking about you and your selfless dedication to your friends."

"How much?" Hawke asked, motioning the barkeep for her usual drink. She couldn't rightly say what she was doing here. The situation in the city was getting worse every day, more people flocking to Qunari side, yet more plotting to kick the horned heretics out of Kirkwall… With the Viscount cooped up in his palace, not caring about anything but his grief, it was only a matter of time now before either side acted. And taking all that into consideration… Hawke just wanted to get drunk. Drinking alone in her empty estate seemed too pathetic, not to mention reminded her too much of Fenris. Given their complicated relationship (that was one way to put it) it was impossible to have another bottle-throwing competition, and she really missed that sometimes.

"Why does everything have to be about money with you?" Isabela scoffed indignantly. "Hey, Corff! Put that on my tab!" she turned back to Hawke. "See?"

"If you ever pay up, I'm going to retire and buy a house on that money," the barkeep muttered putting a mug before Hawke.

"Oh shut it," the pirate waved him away impatiently.

"I'm surprised he still serves you," Miriam shook her head disbelievingly.

"I attract customers. So," Isabela smirked. Everyone in the tavern knew by now not to mess with the scantly-clad well-armed woman. "What troubles are you trying to drown in ale today?"

"Oh, you know," Hawke waved her mug indeterminably. "Giant horned men sitting in Docks, half Kirkwall converting to the Qun, another half demanding to kill the former and burn the latter, the Viscount not giving a damn anymore…"

"Well, I know just what you need," the pirate grinned crookedly. Hawke eyed her suspiciously. Varric was probably the only one capable of holding his ground against Isabela when it came to trading suggestive remarks.

"If your advice includes certain elf without his armor…" she warned just in case.

"No, but we can certainly squeeze that into the schedule, if you want. Even with his armor, if that's your thing," Isabela winked, quite pleased with herself. "My advice is this: leave all this order-keeping law-enforcing business to our esteemed Guard-Captain and come with me on a little adventure."

"Let me guess… you found another false lead?" Miriam rubbed her forehead tiredly. Every once in a while the pirate would appear, looking all infused, and drag them on another goose-chase. It was a mystery to Hawke how she managed to come by all those leads if she always seemed to stand right here, in her favorite spot inside the Hanged Man.

"It's totally legit this time," Isabela assured her enthusiastically.

"That's what you said last time. And the time before that, and…"

"Yes, I know, but this time I'm sure. I know when they are going to make a switch and where. Come on, Hawke, you promised to get Castillon off my back!" the pirate's expression made Hawke wonder if she took puppy-eyes lessons from Merrill. She wanted to mention that she got hit on the head in the fight before making that promise, but she did make it. Isabela wasn't a bad person, not really. She was frivolous and unreliable, had very peculiar interpretation of laws, but she could never stand by when she saw someone's freedom being taken from them. It was doubtlessly the one thing she valued most in life, and it made you like her despite everything, as one likes the wind. Even if it is likely to blow your money right out of your hands.

"That I did," Hawke inclined her head slightly. "When?"

"Tonight, in one of the warehouses in the docks. Get everyone and meet me here after sundown, I'll lead you there."

"Warehouse again?" Miriam groaned.

"What can I say, local scum really doesn't have any imagination, it seems," the pirate shrugged with a smirk.

Later that evening the less law-abiding part of their little group gathered in the Hanged Man (most of them were coming there anyway and didn't require invitation) and were led away by Isabela.

"So what kind of resistance should we expect?" Hawke inquired. She would've asked sooner, but was sidetracked by yet another argument between Fenris and Merrill (although it is quite difficult to fight when the other side is completely oblivious to your hostility, but Fenris managed somehow).

"Oh, about that... I meant to tell you," Isabela shrugged dismissively. "A few smugglers and some Tevinter mages, nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" Fenris raised an eyebrow.

"Well you made her fight those too, why can't I? Castillon will kill me if I don't get this relic, you know!" the pirate played her winning card again. "If we get the relic from smugglers before the mages show up, we might not even have to fight them."

Hawke rolled her eyes. Everyone in Kirkwall wanted her to kill someone for them. That was probably the root of everything that was wrong with this world: no one wanted to solve their own problems. Help a group of smugglers to remain in business and eliminate their rivals? Hawke. Expose corruption in the city guard and help bring the culprit to justice? Hawke. Hunt runaway mages for templars? Hawke. Help escort a runaway mage out of the city? Hawke. Help Qunari catch thieves that stole their creepy powder? Hawke. Help the viscount appease the Qunari?...

"I need a secretary," she mused, only realizing she said that out loud when everybody turned to her with perplexed looks on their faces. "What is that relic? What should we look for?" she quickly recovered.

"Well... It's a book," Isabela said with uncharacteristic hesitation. "You know, a big book with a red stone on the cover."

"Ohh, is it magic?" Merrill asked. That earned her a suspicious glare from Fenris. The former slave did not approve of Miriam bringing the Dalish mage along. He told her so several times. The news about Tevinters made her glad Merrill was with them, however.

"Didn't ask, Kitten," the pirate shrugged. She was about to say something else, but suddenly stepped into the shadows with a warning gesture. The rest of the group quickly joined her.

"Qunari," Varric commented raising an eyebrow. "What is this all about, Rivaini?"

"Shhh!" Isabela shushed him, waiting for the group of Qunari to pass.

"Alright," Hawke crossed her arms. "This isn't the first time you get jumpy when you see a Qunari. What is this book exactly?"

"Well, it might be connected to them... I mean, it was written by some Qunari guy, Cousland or something," Isabela shrugged nervously.

"Koslun?" Fenris asked, disbelief clear on his usually imperturbable face.

"Maybe," she backed away defensively.

"So this is why the Arishok is here. They are searching for the Tome of Koslun. And you are going to steal it," the elf stated, apparently having a private moment of revelation.

"Care to share with the rest of the group?" Hawke asked when Fenris showed to intention to elaborate.

"Ashkaari Koslun is the founder of the Qun. The Tome of Koslun is the most sacred Qunari relic, lost since the New Exalted Marches," Fenris explained. Varric whistled. "The Arishok's ship crashed near Kirkwall at about the same time yours did, as I recall. And you mentioned that you had the relic, but lost it."

"Well, now I found it. Can we get back to getting it back?" Isabela motioned impatiently in the direction she was leading them before the Qunari appeared.

"Do you understand that this will lead to an open war?" the elf lashed out.

"Aveline is going to be _pissed_," Varric wondered.

"And _I_ am going to be _dead_!" Isabela snapped.

"And if we do what you ask, we could all be dead!" Fenris argued. "Why should we help you?"

"Maybe because freeing some slaves was what got me into this mess in the first place?"

Hawke pressed her forehead against the cool brick wall. She didn't ask for this. She should've just returned to Lothering after the Blight, rebuilt the house, maybe got a dog. Or better yet, live as a hermit somewhere in the Wilds with the only company of her loyal mabari. Maybe she and the Witch of the Wilds could be neighbors and hang annoying passersby from the trees together.

"We're getting the book back to the Arishok," she said without looking at her companions and raised a hand to prevent Isabela's objections. "They leave, this city is restored to some semblance of peace, and we go after this Castillon. That alright with everybody?"

"...Fine," the pirate agreed sulkily. "Now can we go?"

"Lead on."

Isabela led them to an inconspicuous warehouse. Then again, all warehouses were inconspicuous and chosen for secret dealings by various shady elements for that very reason with impressive regularity. After quietly dealing with the lookouts the group crept past the crates of cargo to find negotiations in process. Hawke was mildly surprised to see one of her acquaintances from the smuggling days holding something big and wrapped in cloth. It was hard to say whether the other side were indeed Tevinters – whoever they were, they had brains enough to wear ordinary clothes. It wasn't long before the same group of Qunari they saw earlier (at least Hawke assumed they were the same Qunari. Having no distinguishable personal traits whatsoever was probably a part of their strange philosophy) stormed into the warehouse, demanding the Tome. Predictably, the mysterious other side wasn't willing to part with it. Flashes of magic illuminated the dim warehouse.

The shifty smuggler fellow – Sam, if Hawke's memory served her right, - tried to get away with the Tome in confusion.

"Hawke!" Isabela called out and jumped on the nearby pile of crates not waiting for the answer.

"Keep them occupied!" Miriam commanded before following the pirate by the other side. The two of them made their way around the fight, quietly jumping from crate to crate unnoticed by the fighters, until they came down on the other side, Isabela slightly ahead. They were not the only ones who noticed Sam's retreat, however.

"I'll get the Tome, take care of this guy!" the pirate shouted, not even slowing down as the ground between her and Hawke suddenly became covered in ice. Miriam jumped back before her feet got caught in the frost.

"Isabela!" she shouted, but the pirate was already running out of the warehouse. Annoyed, she turned to the mage who was already preparing his next spell. With a quick flick of Hawke's hand a knife planted itself deep in the Tevinter's throat. She began to follow Isabela again, but sudden weakness made her stumble. It seemed the warehouse became darker where she was standing, the shadows grew deeper, and if she turned away, she could catch movement out the corner of her eye. Shades. "I hate those things!" she growled in frustration.

Shining blue-white claws tore at the shadowy forms, leaving trails of light in the air. Fenris rushed to her, quickly looking her over for injuries. "The Tome?" he asked urgently, but with the usual cold calmness he maintained while fighting. Recovered from the shades' present, Hawke ran for the exit without answering him.

All they found outside, however, was Sam's corpse, stabbed in the back. There was no trace of Isabela or the book. Miriam swore like only a Fereldan could.

"I suppose we won't find her now," she said, looking at the empty street. "Unless a sudden strike of conscience makes her come back and return the Tome to Qunari."

"Has no one informed me that we are living in a fairytale now?" Fenris snorted.

The rest of their companions silently joined them, understanding everything they needed to after one look at the body.

"What are we going to do now?" Merrill asked, downcast. "The Arishok will be very angry, won't he?"

"Now we prepare for war, Daisy," Varric said in a comforting tone. "This is one insult too many, I think."

"Merrill, I want you to return to the Alienage. Make sure your people are warned and protected if the Qunari decide to storm the city," Hawke said, still looking at the street and twirling a dagger absently in her hand. "Varric, make sure she gets home safely. I'll go tell Aveline."

"Aveline is going to be _pissed_," the dwarf said ushering the Dalish away.

"Fenris..."

"No," the elf said immediately.

"No what?" Miriam cast a sidelong glance at him. He had a stubborn look on his face, the same one he usually assumed when someone was reckless enough to ask why the elf couldn't just forget about his former master if the magister decided to abandon the hunt.

"No I will not go to the Alienage," he elaborated. "You need me."

"I do. I wasn't going to ask you," Hawke blinked. It occurred to her that they were really alone for the first time since he left her house that night. She fought back the untimely awkwardness, forcing herself to focus on the problem at hand. The rest could wait for when Qunari departed. If both of them survived that long. "I need your expertise to solve this with minimal bloodshed."

"The Arishok will know of this. And when he does, he'll be forced to act by the Qun," they started walking together in the direction of Hightown. Hawke listened to the elf's business-like calm voice, hoping against hope that he'll have some kind of magical peaceful solution. "All we can do now is warn the Guard."

"Great. You know whom I fear more than the Arishok?" Miriam groaned.

"Aveline?" Fenris asked immediately.

"Aveline."


	16. Honorable men and scoundrels

"Do you even realize what mess you've created?" Aveline was marching through the docks so fast that Miriam had to occasionally skip to keep up with the Guard-Captain.

"I know, alright? No need to rub it in my face!" she honestly tried not to snap. The last thing Hawke needed right now was someone reminding her that everything was once again her fault. She used to have mother for that. The 'used to' part was, conveniently enough, her fault. "How was I to know that Qunari take their reading so seriously?"

"Like there's anything they don't take seriously. How do you even manage to find so much trouble?" Aveline continued, much to the amusement of the guards accompanying them. Possibly they were just glad that it was someone else who was reprimanded this time, and not them.

"I'm a people person," Miriam shrugged. Ahead were the barred gates to the Qunari compound. Chances were the Arishok was already aware of their rather unfortunately recognizable group's involvement and ordered his men to shoot them on sight. Unless it went against his peculiar sense of honor, in which case he'd let them in, listen to what they had to say and only then order his men to shoot them. Hawke didn't like honorable men, they were unpredictable. You never knew what they decided to declare a personal exalted march on next. Unlike complete scoundrels whom you could always count on doing whatever benefited them personally. Take Isabela, for instance. In hindsight, Hawke should've seen that the pirate's agreement to hand the Tome over to the Qunari was no more than a convenient lie. The fact that she didn't see that irritated her much more than the fact that Isabela stole the book and now the Arishok will surely kill them all.

"We are here to see your Arishok," Aveline stepped forward, small and fragile against the giant horned guard, yet somehow equally intimidating. The Qunari's gaze slowly traveled from one face to another, evaluating them all and probably comparing to the list in his mind.

"Serah Hawke may pass, as well as the elf. The rest will remain outside."

"That's unacceptable!" the Guard-Captain fumed.

"Serah Hawke may pass..." the Qunari started again in the same monotone voice.

"It's alright, Aveline," Miriam put a hand on Aveline's shoulder guard and smiled. "It's my mess. Let's see if I still can solve this peacefully."

"I will not let you go there alone, Hawke! What if they try to kill you?"

"I'm not alone, am I?" Miriam nodded at the silently brooding form of Fenris behind her shoulder.

"Right, because the two of you against an army are a considerable force," Aveline drew out sarcastically. Apparently Hawke was a bad influence. "At least scream if you need help."

"But of course. I always scream when I'm pierced with an arm-thick spear or ten," Miriam patted the Guard-Captain's shoulder guard and smiled brightly.

"Must you make everything into a joke?" Aveline sighed with exasperation.

"Only when I'm scared shitless," Miriam made a deadly serious face and turned to the Qunari guard. "Let us in."

The gates were opened wordlessly before them. Qunari inside seemed ready for battle. Then again, they always seemed ready for battle. Logic hinted that there were other kinds of Qunari somewhere – laborers, artists, philosophers... And still Miriam had a hard time imagining one of the giants that faced her now as, say, a baker.

"Serah Hawke," The Arishok rumbled. "Interesting, how you always seem to be involved when there are crimes committed against my people."

"Ah, yes, but it's always on your side," Miriam, momentarily distracted by an admittedly disturbing mental picture of the topless Arishok wearing an apron and proffering a freshly baked loaf. "That is, on the side of peaceful coexistence. Friendly help, as it were."

Fenris threw her a warning glance and Hawke answered with a glance of her own that spelled 'well then _you_ do it!' The elf shrugged impassively.

"So you say," the Arishok rose to his feet, looming over two small figures at the base of the stairs. "Yet you attack my men and steal the most precious relic of my people!"

"No no no, you got it all wrong!" Hawke started to step forward, but was stopped by hostile glances around her and a general feel of an army that just took a breath before plunging forward. The Arishok was fuming. It was just possible to imagine steam coming out of his ears. "We came there to get the relic back to you, we didn't know that your men would also come and attack everyone on sight!"

"Why then the Tome is lost once again?" the Qunari leader was pacing furiously, punctuating each word. Miriam looked sideways at Fenris, and the slight shake of his head did not look encouraging at all. "You say you came to help, but the Tome was lost because of your interference!"

Hawke was about to blurt something out while trying simultaneously to come up with an answer that would miraculously dissuade the Arishok of her guilt, but then she felt a hand squeeze her shoulder, drawing her slightly back. The familiar feel of metal claws digging into her shoulder left no doubts as to the hand's owner, even if he was well known for his dislike of all sorts of touching. Except, maybe, once, for a little while... Another tag of the hand brought Miriam out of untimely reverie. The elf, alarmed by the signs only he could see, shielded Miriam with his shoulder. She knew that stance: one foot ahead of the other, back hunched, one arm bent slightly, ready to reach for his sword at any moment. A lean white wolf ready to leap. At such moments she could almost see the fur stand up on his back.

"Be ready to run for the gates," Fenris growled quietly, his eyes on the Arishok. The Qunari made a slight gesture and suddenly spears were flying all around them. At the gate Aveline and her guards were waiting for them, fending off the Qunari that attacked them.

"How did you manage to make it even worse?" the Guard-Captain shouted as they retreated by the narrow side streets.

"It's a talent I have!" Miriam shot back. They managed to lose the Qunari, but it was small relief. Judging by the sounds, the horned giants finally came out of dormancy and were now storming the streets.

"Captain, we need to get back to the keep and organize the defense!" one of the guards, a man vaguely familiar to Hawke even if she wasn't in the mood for trying to remember things she wasn't going to kill, said urgently. Aveline nodded and looked at Fenris.

"The Arishok will be there," the elf confirmed, not too pleased with all the attention he was getting whenever Qunari were concerned. "They will quickly swipe the city, effectively taking all the major points, but their main target will be the Viscount and other nobles."

"What about the templars?" another guard cut in. "They have the largest army in the city, perhaps we'd better get to the Gallows, warn them..."

An explosion thundered in the air as one of the warehouses near them went up, showering the streets with burning debris.

"I'm sure they'll get some clue from all the fighting and fires!" Hawke shouted. _They will be more concerned with keeping mages from running away in all the chaos anyway_, she added to herself.

"Move out!" Aveline ordered.

Possibly there was some thought to giving the Qunari a compound in the Docks. Possibly that thought was "let's keep those horned freaks with huge axes as far away from us nobles as possible". That would've proven to be a problem to Miriam and others, if not for the foresight of two parties: some unknown Amell of old setting up a hidden entrance to his house from Darktown, and smugglers needing a shortcut to Darktown from the Docks. The only obstacle that way was Bodahn's dismay at the guards treading dirt all over his nice clean floors. The Hightown was, however, another story altogether.

While the city tried to organize some sort of defense against the enemy that was already inside the gates, the Qunari swept through to their destination with little to no resistance. Just as Hawke and the others crept out the door of her estate a blast of magic scattered them about, knocking them into the walls. Through the ringing in her ears dazed Miriam heard sharp orders and men in the uniform of the city guard invaded her vision.

"Captain!" one of them exclaimed with relief once the Qunari were down. Miriam blinked rapidly, trying to drive away the last stars, but it didn't help her identify the guard. They all seemed the same in their armor. These particular guards looked somewhat more deadbeat and lost than usual. Hawke honestly hoped that with the shortcut they took they'd manage to beat the Qunari to Hightown. Damned hornheads were efficient.

"Situation, Lieutenant," Aveline ordered in clear calm voice that instantly made her men straighten up.

"The Qunari have taken the keep, Captain!" the Lieutenant reported in a hurry to lay the problem on his superior's broad shoulders. Hawke wished she could just do the same: being the eldest child was a pain. "They drag nobles out of their houses and bring them to the keep!"

"We need to get to the Arishok before they kill them all," Aveline looked up at the towering shape of the Viscount's keep ahead of them, making up her mind. "There can't be too many of them there yet, maybe some of our men at the keep are still holding."

"And if we kill the Arishok, maybe the Qunari will be disorganized," Hawke nodded thoughtfully. Fenris stayed silent.

"At least long enough for the templars to join us," Aveline finished. "Come on. We'll get in through the servants entrance."

They made their way to the keep and then inside through the empty corridors. Most of the Qunari forces were still behind them and the way was relatively clear, until they arrived to the barracks, catching a dozen Qunari between them and the guards trapped in the keep. It was a short walk from there to the throne room with their numbers doubled.

As far as dramatic entrances went, this one wouldn't be rated very high for the false start it had when one of the Qunari that guarded the doors threw a city guard into them, causing the doors to open. The history did not, however, record that Guardsman Donnic was the first to enter the hall where the Arishok held his hostages. As Varric would tell that tale later in the Hanged Man, it was Hawke who threw the Qunari guard into the doors, knocking them out along with the frame, and then marched in before the dust had settled, her loyal companions at her side and city guards behind them.

Inside, the Arishok stood looking directly at her, the kneeling Viscount before him. The city ruler's eyes were on her as well, and there was none of that indifference they bore in the days since he lost his son. The very real perspective of his own death seemed to have awoken the man, and now his gray eyes were full of paralyzing horror. Between Hawke and her enemy was a score of the city's nobles, horded like cattle by more Qunari. Everyone seemed to be waiting.

"Shanedan, Hawke," the Arishok rumbled almost calmly, as if their recent exchange did not happen. "I have been expecting you."

"Why are you doing this? What have these people done to you?" Miriam gestured at the nobles who were covering in fear. It probably wasn't the best question to be asked in the circumstances, but the longer she kept the Arishok talking, the better chance she had of the templars stopping the Qunari. In the ideal world Isabela would have walked in right now, handing the Tome over to the Arishok and complaining to Hawke about the bad influence she had on the pirate. But no one came. That's scoundrels for you.

"It is what they have not done," the Qunari's eyes followed her gesture and a grimace of utter disgust distorted his face. "Look at them. They are dashrasi, mindless and useless. They have no purpose. I will give them purpose."

"We did not ask you for salvation," Hawke frowned, counting Qunari in the room. They probably had a chance of defeating them, but not before most of the nobles including the Viscount would be killed.

"Yet salvation you shall receive!" the Arishok roared and swung his axe. The nobles let out a collective gasp and the Viscount's body dropped to the floor, twitching a few times and spraying blood on the stairs before finally going still. The Arishok threw the severed head in Hawke's direction where it rolled and stopped at her feet. Miriam stared at it, frozen and sick in the stomach. At least she wasn't too late this time, but it made little difference. "You are basalit-an, Hawke, but even you are a part of this madness. I will make you see!"

She struggled for an answer, but the Viscount's head with its slack jaw and dead eyes made all thoughts disappear. Miriam felt helpless, once again proven unable to save a life. At this moment Fenris stepped forward, as if he was waiting for the Arishok to say these words.

"As basalit-an Hawke has the right to challenge you to single combat," the elf said, ignoring the warning glances Aveline threw at him.

"That is truth," the Arishok said after a pause, obviously annoyed.

"Are you mad?" Aveline hissed, turning Fenris back to her. "She can't fight that monster!"

"You wanted to be recognized in this city," Fenris said to Hawke quietly, still ignoring the Guard-Captain. "This is your best chance. You can save them all while they're watching."

"You... knew this would happen?" Miriam blinked, trying to wrap her head around the idea of dueling the Arishok. However she tried, the result always seemed to be vaguely Hawke-shaped smear on the wall. "Do you want to get me killed?"

"You can do it," the elf said forcefully and gripped her shoulder.

"Hawke, you don't have to do it, we'll attack them together," Aveline tried again.

"If I win, will you leave this city?" it was getting dangerous to ignore the Guard-Captain for so long, but Hawke had to ask the Arishok.

"Yes," the Qunari replied solemnly. Hawke turned to Aveline and smiled guiltily.

"No," the Guard-Captain said.

"I challenge you," Hawke called out decisively, causing Aveline to cover her face with her palm and mutter some delightfully eloquent curse.

"I accept. Prepare yourself," the Arishok nodded to his men and the Qunari cleared out the center of the hall as an improvised arena.

"You're fast, wear him out," Fenris instructed hastily when Hawke turned to him. "His weapons are heavy, watch for the moment after the swing when he'll have to regain-"

"I _know_," Miriam interrupted him with a smile. She felt strangely light-headed, not quite believing she was to fight the mountain-like Qunari with weapons each capable of slicing her in two.

"I won't let you die. If I see you losing, I'll join the fight," the elf offered, as if already regretting his carefully executed plan.

"I'll be fine," she smiled again and after a moment's thought grabbed the elf's collar impulsively and kissed him. Breaking away she caught his wide shocked eyes that made dying completely worth it. Hawke turned to the Arishok, grinning madly. "I'm ready."


End file.
